


Porcelain and Bittersweet

by wede_fic (frahulettaes)



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-08
Updated: 2006-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frahulettaes/pseuds/wede_fic
Summary: LOTRIPS, AUViggo/OrlandoSean/OrlandoElijah/OrlandoBasically, Orlando is the little black dress of this fic.It's a LOTRIPS free for all.Porcelain and Bittersweet2006
Relationships: Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan, Orlando Bloom/Elijah Wood, Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen, Sean Bean/Orlando Bloom





	1. Chapter 1

Sean watched Orlando for nearly five years. First, in Canterbury, a young student and vivacious and randy beau brummel. Then London where he seemed to expand, shining and vibrant amid a swirl of actors, buzzing with young energy. His future grace present even in his young, coltish form. 

Sean savored the anticipation, the delicious waiting. 

Late January snow powdered the streets, Orlando was 22, and Sean blinked and left for the North and in that moment, lost Orlando forever. Dienne found Sean, shadowed in the church yard, still as the stone angels in flight around him. His hair glimmered in stark contrast to the bleakness of his coat and expression, toes touching the edge of an open grave. 

"Sean." He whispered and knew that Sean could hear him. Could hear him from nearly a mile away, though they did not share a connection through blood. 

Sean did not move when he heard the low timbre of Dienne's voice, though he should have. He wanted to fill his eyes and memory with the last sight of an old friend and it seemed nothing would distract him. 

"Amante, he is gone." Dienne whispered into the sacred air. "Viggo has taken him."

No demon of the devil's own could have looked more furious. Sean's anger sparked and crackled on the night air and Dienne winced at its intensity. His agony, his immortal rage weighted him and he stilled until even the moments between them seemed to stop. 

He returned with Dienne to the London lost to him. No longer home to that flickering brightness of warmth and life. Now an empty shell where once his future beckoned with honeyed fingers. 

He was bitter. And unrepentantly destructive. Even Eyolle could not talk sense into him. In his vicious wake, victims lay broken and drained, left shamelessly in the open where any mortal might stumble upon them until finally, Eyolle and Annian managed to entice Sean into the east where such destruction was less dangerous to them. 

Dienne watched the steamer pull away from the dock with a mixture of sadness and relief and wasn't sure which was the deeper. 

~~~~~~~~

Orlando loved the desert at night. Nearly three decades, since that night in London, he spent hiding from the sun. 

The Sahara suited his desolation and the Bedouin never questioned the loss of one or two in the night. The most beautiful boys. The most precious girls. Once, a Prince, immensely strong and delicious. That one he'd kept alive for a fortnight. In the end, the Prince had begged for death and Orlando granted it to him. 

He became heavy with darkness and the long passing of time. He was inconsolable. 

Every moonrise found him reclined on the craggy out crop below his cave watching the blue night wash over the desert and surveying the shepherds and their sheep. For a good long time he'd lived on those sheep, nearly a whole decade. They were shamelessly easy to entice into service and he could feed from them for a good deal longer than the shepherds without them being missed. 

And then, one night, he'd chanced upon a boy, slightly younger than his mortal self, laying beside the oasis, fingers trailing through the starlit water, unknowing, unseeing.  
For the first time in ten long years, Orlando spoke, his voice a rusted and painful instrument, yet the boy did not run or question. They spoke Bedouin, and a little French.

The desert at night is a cold place, even in summer, yet the boy seemed quite comfortable sitting beneath the fruitful dates and weaving stories and seduction in the air. 

How cold Orlando was, his skin so soft and white for one who lived here in the desert, how dark his eyes, darker than the deep shades of night. He chattered quietly as his hands worked over Orlando, igniting pleasure, heat, hunger. 

And when at last, they began to move together, Orlando subsumed in the boy's body, and in his passion bit the tender young flesh and fed on human blood for the first time and found his thirst a deep and shockingly voracious thing. 

By the time he realized what he was doing, the boy was long dead, growing chill in his arms and he was drunk on the radiant heat in his belly. He wept bitter tears for the sweet shepherd boy, taking the time to bury him beneath stones older than his own kind. 

For nearly a year, he fed on sheep again, but in the end he could not deny that it was the mortal blood of humans he needed. The desire for it pounding through him each night he arose and went to his bed with him in the pinked light of dawn. 

The Bedouin had always told tales over missing children. Orlando was careful and took only when he could do it unseen, unheard. 

Still rumors spread over the next years and he became the shadow of the desert.

A title that suited him well, he thought.

~~~~~~~~~

He had just marked his thirtieth year in the desert, a desert becoming more unruly and dangerous as the times changed, when he was found. 

He arose at dusk and wandered to the dim rocky ledge that was his doorstep only to find it occupied by Viggo. For a moment he just stood and stared uncomprehending, followed quickly by anger and shocked indignation. 

"Maza toreed? La yomkinoka an taqtolany mojaddadan. Marra wahedah kanat kafeyah."  
(What do you want? You cannot kill me again. Once was quite enough.)  
He spat. 

Viggo was unmoved by his outburst. 

"Anta mahato shawq." He said softly.  
(You are missed)

"Men qebal mann? Kol mann aarefohom mato awo asbahoo taeneen bel sen. Kol mann aarefohom yazonoon anna nanni mot."  
(By whom? Everyone 'I' know is dead or old. Everyone 'I' know thinks I'm dead.)

He was gesticulating wildly now.

"Laysa al kol." He held out his hand, palm up. "Oad maaie."  
(Not everyone.) (Come home with me.)

He shook his head and pointed to the oasis. "Haza al makan yonaseboni. Ohebo al aaysha hona." (This place suits me. I like it here.)

Viggo did not seem to move and yet a blink and he was crowding Orlando, pushing him by his presence alone against the stark ragged cave wall. He was not gentle. Orlando's jaw ached where the pressure of Viggo's fingers dug, his breath came shallow under the weight of Viggo's chest, he felt as though he were strangling. 

"It is time, young one, to stop sulking in the desert." Viggo's lips trailed along Orlando's skin as he spoke causing confused waves of shock and pleasure, anger and fear to run through him. "You're wild, untamed. Dangerous." He bit the sloping rise of tendon on Orlando's neck, nicked the skin and lapped at the small gem of blood that collected. 

"You kill your prey. Untidy Orlando. Very untidy." He bit again at Orlando's skin, the sharp rise over a collar bone, tasted the black drip of blood and considered it. "You taste rich. How many have you killed?" 

Orlando was awash in sensation, confused by lust and hunger, the smell of his own blood rising a killing need. "Stop, Viggo…stop…for the love of god…ungh…" He twisted and writhed in vain. 

Viggo watched impassively. "God?" he growled and then laughed, full throated until he was breathless. "Oh, Orlando. I have missed you." His chuckle still rumbled, mixed with the ragged huffs of Orlando's breathing. "We leave now." He clamped a hand on the back of Orlando's neck and pulled as he turned and began walking down the staggered path.

"Billy." He called. "Bring the camels. I found him."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The airport was a shining, over bright cavern filled with all manner of people chattering in a dozen tongues, all too loud and confusing to Orlando. The limo driver settle their mountain of bags on the curb as Viggo led them through the arching cathedral of glass to the first class lounge, a blessedly quiet and dim arrangement of rooms, tastefully arranged with tribal arts and rugs from Turkey.

Viggo settled them into a private room and left, the sound of the door closing and the stillness that followed in it's wake made Orlando miss his mountain home and it's deathly peace. 

"Viggo left this for you." Billy handed him a note and made for the rear of the room. 

I've left you something for the trip. Take good care of it because it belongs to you now, your Attende. It's time you learned to take care of something outside yourself. I'll see you in London. V. 

He stared stupidly at the words, one word and cringed: attende. He was meant to keep it, him, alive, and he didn't know if he could. 

"Billy…?" He whispered and followed the Scot's steps to the rear of the room. "What..?" He slowed and stopped, frozen. Billy stood next to a boy. An extraordinary boy, milky skinned and eyes clearer than the water in the Aegean. Hunger flared. Desire. Thirst.

"Orlando…no…ORLANDO…" Someone was shouting in his ear, Billy, maybe. He never saw the blow coming. A moment later he was laying against the wall ten feet from the pair, rubbing at his jaw and looking wonderingly at the smaller man, stronger than any of them. "Thes is Elijah…" Billy shook out his hand and blew on the knuckles. "Elijah, this," and he pointed to Orlando. "Is Orlando. He's a bet…new..t'this." Billy walked over to him and held out a hand, helped him to his feet and brushed his jacket lapels. 

"Elijah is here of his own free will, Orlando. He's one of the cousins, so don't kill him, yeah?" Billy's earnest eyes pinned him. 

He nodded. "Yes." 

"Good. Now, I'll just be over here while you two get to know each other." He slapped at Orlando's hand. "No teeth. Got that?" He motioned for Elijah to join them. "Elijah, the knife." He held his hand out and Elijah slipped the small bone knife from his jacket. 

"Thes," He held the knife in front of Orlando's eyes. "is what you use. Elijah will show you." 

Elijah was patient and beautiful. He used the knife on the inside of his elbow, the thin stream of blood sparkling like garnets. Orlando's lips met the wound and he drew on the small cut hungrily. "Not so fast…slow down…" Elijah was panting, fingers in Orlando's hair, gripping tightly. He moaned and lay back into the dreary airport sofa, wrapping Orlando between his legs. 

"Oh, god…Orlando…slow down." His grip in Orlando's hair became painful, desperate. He could feel his pulse pounding, trying to keep pace with the hungry sucking lips. "Billy…" he gasped and Billy was there immediately, behind Elijah, supporting him, speaking to Orlando, quiet and rough. 

It took nearly a year for Orlando to learn how to live with his Attende. Billy stayed with them for the first seven months until he was sure Elijah was safe with their desert wilding. After eight months they began to take him out at nights. At ten months he was able to be in a room with all sorts of people and control the feeding lust. 

At a year, Sean found him again.

~~~~~~~~~

Sean watched as Orlando's flesh moved silkily beneath his clothes. He was at once the same boy he'd first seen, pristine and smooth as a young horse, and changed, older, more languid. 

"Where's your pretty little attende, Orlando." He murmured into Orlando's mind. Orlando's back stiffened, he went still as a prey animal scenting the wind. The boy in his arms tried to kiss him, to get his attention but it was useless. 

"Who are you?" he whispered and turned, looking down the alley towards Sean. 

"My name's not important. Not for now. You didn't answer my question." 

Orlando felt a chill run through him. Elijah was at the estate with Dom and Billy. He was safe. They would protect him. 

There was something feral about the voice in his mind and he was drawn to it, it held echoes of his wild desert years and the old feelings rushed back to him, the blood lust crashing through him in a violent rush. 

His breath became ragged, his steps leading down the darkened way towards that smoky voice. 

"How do you know about Elijah?" 

Sean smiled. 

"I know a great deal about you, Orlando." "Karl," he said and motioned to another shrouded figure. Not one but three shuffled into the moonlight, two incredibly tall men and between them, the slight frame of a boy wrapped in black.

Sean nodded and one of the men tore the hood from the boy's face. Elijah.

"NOOOOO…" Orlando flew at them, desperate to free the small body from his captors.

In an instant, Sean was there and Orlando was trapped. 

"Why?" He ground out. "Why him? If it's me you want, just take me. Let him go…" Orlando was silenced by a single finger to his lips. 

"Oh, it's not you I want, little one. Nor your porcelain and bittersweet friend. Lovely as you both are, I've something a little more…valuable in mind." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Viggo's house, or rather Estate, sat in a rather decrepit part of London, too long abandoned, overgrown, overlooked. It was old, like the grounds it stood on, like the town around it, peeling and shabby. But comfortable. Its basement used to have a dock to the river, many hundreds of years ago, but now stood dry. A perfect place to sleep.

He stood on the roof and looked towards town, the rising spires, modern and cold over shadowed the rounded curves of St. Peters. The light had turned lavender shading to violet, a time of day he loved, the closest he'd gotten to daylight in nearly eight hundred years. 

Dom leaned against him, curled under his arm, for once still in the twilight. 

"It's been two days, Viggo. Two days and no word." Dom began to shake. Viggo cooed in his ear softly and stroked his back. The time was coming when Dom would have to make a choice, leave the estate and return to the living or travel down this lesser path and become one of them. Now, though, he was shaken with worry for Elijah and Orlando. 

"They're young, Dom, they're new to this. They've probably gone off somewhere new and exciting. It happens…" Viggo turned to face the rooftop door as it opened and Billy stepped out, his face a mask of bland neutrality. In a moment he was before them, hand outstretched, holding a small bone knife. 

"Thes just came by messenger. It's Elijah's"

No one moved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elijah could not sleep. The rotting iron bars that separated him from Orlando seemed fragile but were vastly strong enough to keep him in. And they were not comfortable to lean against. 

He watched Orlando, curled into the arching cave of the stone door way, dim now but exposed fully once the day dawned, and made himself as small as possible. 

Soon the dawn would come and he would watch Orlando turn to dust. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Viggo, no…" Billy's calm voice belayed his fear. 

Viggo looked at the knife in his hand and thought about the fragile mortal it belonged to, how frightened he must be, if he was still alive. Guilt wafted through him, thin and not quite tangible, a feeling he'd long since bid farewell. But for this boy…something pulled at him, something he wasn't comfortable looking at too closely. The one thing he did know was that loosing him was simply not an option.

He looked from the knife to the tense faces of his boys and back, wrapped the small sliver of bone in a silk square and tucked it into a pocket. 

"Billy, keep Dom here." He turned and grabbed his coat, the leather smooth and buttery in his hands, still unable to look at either of them. "Don't…" he stopped a the door and said over his shoulder, "follow me." And went through it, alone.

Billy and Dom stood watching the closed door for several long moments. 

"He's insane." Dom said.

"Quite. C'mon, grab y'er coat." Billy was already moving, collecting the small paraphernalia cluttering the low wooden shelves. 

"I'll get the bag." He tucked a small set of phials into a large pocket and grabbed the codex dranicus, its papery cover still a wonder to him. 

"Right." Billy grabbed the last leather bag and swung toward the door. "Hurry, Dom."

"Aye, I'm commin." He muttered. 

And the door shut again leaving the room in dismal quiet.

~~~~~~~

"Sean." Viggo knew he was there. Sean loved drama, moody settings, intimidation.

"Aye. You surprise me, Viggo." Sean ambled out of the shadow and stood in a thin stream of light. "After all this time, you still care about them. It makes you weak."

Oh yes, Viggo thought, this is Sean in his element. Lord of Darkness indeed. 

"Still have a flair for drama. Nice to see some things don't change." Viggo smirked.

"Well, you get good at what you do. After a thousand years, I should think I was very good at it. Shame to waste all that hard work." The corner of his mouth tilted up, the closest he ever came to a smile. 

"Give them back to me, Sean." Time to end this, Viggo thought.

"There is no end. Not for us, Viggo. You should know that by now." It was Sean's turn to smirk. 

Viggo nodded. "Give them back to me. They're nothing to you. You have everything. You don't need them."

Sean's expression grew dark, devoid of life. "I don't want them. I want you. Dead. You prance and preen, all these centuries, being the," he held up his hands, made a quote motion, "Good one. The one who kept the peace. But you're a liar, Viggo. The moment you took Orlando, everything you said became a lie." 

"Orlando was a mistake." Viggo said quietly. "He came to me. On a dare, pretended he wanted it, 'acted' as though he wanted the change. He came to me to test himself. And I failed him…I…Orlando is my greatest regret. Give him back to me, Sean. He's suffered enough. And Elijah is innocent….please."

"Please…" Sean sneered. "Stop playing the noble monster, Viggo. It does not become you. Or us. We are what we are, Viggo. We are killers. It's time you realized that. Past time." Sean moved, lightening fast, flying at Viggo. Viggo let him come, threw himself back, into Sean's momentum and they tumbled across the broken and filthy pavement. 

Sean's hand made a killing noose around Viggo's neck and he felt the breath in him thin and become stretched. He clawed, catching as much skin as he could, bucking and kicking but Sean's strength was formidable and Viggo's eyesight began to dim.

"Good bye, Viggo…" Sean's eyes grew wide, Viggo could see the whites around irises green as remembered grass. Sean gasped horribly, his mouth stretched in soundless agony, cracks formed across his skin, black and blood red, and then he crumbled into powdery dust the color of old bricks. 

Viggo gasped and inhaled a coughing breath. Rolled to his belly and panted, willing his eyesight to return. Billy was there at once, helping him stand.

"Cum'on, we've little time. The sun is coming." He dragged Viggo to the door, Dom hot on their heels. They managed to hobble down the ragged iron stairs into the ruined factory floor. 

"Were are they? Orlando, Elijah…please." Viggo's voice was a faint and breathy thing.

"Down the stairs. Billy, take him out. I'll go find them…" Dom left them at the bottom of the stairs and Viggo's heart raced with fear.

"No…" he managed.

"Hurry, Viggo, we've no time. Dom will find them." Billy dragged him out the enormous grated doors to the side of a black van and helped Viggo inside. "The windows are tinted, Viggo. You're safe here. You're safe. Safe. You daft bastard…" Billy's cheeks were wet with tears and Viggo touched one, raising it to his lips, tasting its salt and mortality. 

"Billy…" he choked. "What have you done? I told you to stay…"

"Arrogant, prideful bastard, that's what you are, Viggo. To think we'd just set tight while you risked your life? Just who d'ya think ye' are? Just who d'ye think WE are? Bastard.." Billy's hands clutched at Viggo's jacket and he dragged Viggo into a crushing embrace. "Bastard, bastard…" He mumbled, even as his hands stroked the long back, through the sandy hair. 

"Billy…"

The door of the van flew open and Elijah and Dom helped a weak and trembling Orlando into the back seat. The sky had gone from lavender to pink, the sun on the old bricks and iron an agonizing brightness. The van door slammed closed and Dom jumped into the front seat. 

"Take us home, S'blommie." Billy said quietly. 

And he did. 

~*~

2006

Orlando always felt the dusk. Sleeping, silent and still, in the darkest cellar, farthest from the rounded Roman arch leading to the old road, the instant the sun sank below the reaching oak trees, his eyes opened and he inhaled the dusk like air. Beside him, Elijah would continue to sleep, his mortal senses dulled to the changing time, even to the minute movements of his master. 

Orlando watched Elijah sleep. Waiting, thirsty. 

Elijah was just fucked up enough that sleeping with Orlando was a thrill. He loved their sex, loved being cut by the knife and the rough attack on the wound was almost enough to make him come. He and Orlando, they were a good match. 

Elijah mumbled into his pillow and rolled towards Orlando, arm outstretched. It landed with a dull thump on Orlando's chest and he smiled, long fingers coming up to stroke a path from wrist to inner elbow. Elijah shivered and woke, slapping at the teasing hand. 

"Fuck off. Fucker…tickle...sleeping…dammit…" he snuffled from under the pillow. 

Orlando rolled towards him, drawn by his bed-warm smooth skin and the sound of his blood, and molded himself to the length of Elijah's slim body hungrily, caresses turning to rough groping. 

"Can't very well be sleeping if you're telling me off, can you?" He slid one arm around Elijah's waist and pulled them together as he whispered in the soft shell of Elijah's ear. "It's dusk, Lij. I'm hungry…" he licked a path from the angled muscle of shoulder to the slim column of neck and Elijah shivered. He wanted to use his teeth. One day, maybe Lij would let him. 

"When are you 'not' hungry? Fucking animal…Christ…unghh…god, that's good." 

Elijah's hand drifted back, settled on Orlando's hip, pulling him closer as they rocked together. "Fuck me…while you…do it…"

Orlando let go of Elijah long enough to move his cock between Elijah's cheeks and press, licked his palm to moisten the head and slide it back into the darkened cleft, into Elijah. 

"Hand me the knife…" Orlando ground out and Elijah released him, clutching for the small handle and handing it over his shoulder into Orlando's grasp. He thrust slowly, deeply, Elijah's panting breaths guiding him. In the dim light, Elijah's back was a creamy expanse of skin etched with the passage of the knife he held, scarred in a swirling Byzantine pattern of use. 

Orlando dug his arm under Elijah, wrapped it around his chest, anchoring him against the slow rhythm as he chose where the next mark would go. He'd started on the rounded ball of muscle on Elijah's right shoulder, the design a mix of Arabic letters and sweeping vines and tendrils that now played down his shoulder blade. He selected a section of skin beneath the word 'dark' and began to cut a graceful lacy half leaf. 

The blood pearled, black in the half light of the dusk to mortal eyes, red as rubies to his own and he licked across the wound, hungrily, growling. The cutting nearly always sent Elijah spiraling towards orgasm and he cried out when Orlando's lips sealed over the wound and he sucked. 

"Oh, god, fuck fuck, Orli…good." 

The litany of pleasure washed over Orlando and he made himself slow down and hear it, tried to let it warm him as much as the blood in his belly. Sometimes he could. Sometimes.

By the time he'd drunk his fill, the wound was closing and Elijah had come and lay limp in his arms. He licked over the fresh pink lines of the leaf he'd drawn and thought about the Prince who'd taught him to make the graceful lines with pen and ink. 

~~~~~~~~~

Viggo returned to Everens in the spring to find his homecovenfamily barely keeping themselves from killing one another. Billy spent most of his time trying to tame Orlando and while he was the strongest of them, Billy that is, he was having a hard time trying to make Orlando care about something. Something other than fucking and sucking his attende. 

Elijah wasn't much help. Half the time he was tricking around clubs, smoking, fucking and generally making a nuisance of himself. He called it his 'freedom', and defended it viciously, for which Billy never let him alone. 

"Cocksucking little fucking whore…" was how Billy usually spoke of Elijah. Though sometimes affection crept into his tone and destroyed any sort of credibility for his anger. 

When Elijah was gone, Billy locked Orlando below in the darkened stone cellars to keep him from tearing through the London nightlife looking for him. It wasn't that Orlando was jealous, exactly, more like…addicted. He rarely spoke to anyone other than Elijah, even months after his arrival. 

Having Dom back in the fold went a long way toward soothing Billy and, frankly, Dom loved Britain and hated the east, Orlando not withstanding. Dom and Elijah had become cousins the same year and at first had slept in a tangle like puppies right up until Viggo had taken Dom as his attende. 

In truth, they were all Viggo's. He fed from each of them periodically, like a stallion and his herd. But it was also true that he loved them, in his own odd and distant way. His humor was dry and self-effacing which was why he loved London and Dom and Billy. 

Billy was no one's attende. And in a strange sense, everyone's. Billy wasn't like them. He was, something else apart. No one knew what for sure, but sometimes, he disappeared for a week and when he came back, that quirky laugh of his came back with him. Where he lost it to begin with was anyone's guess. 

Viggo wouldn't talk about it but Billy and he would spend hours in the farthest ruined Salon, smoking those huge, stinking stogies while Billy drank whiskey and sometimes, black rum from an unmarked bottle. Dom was too restless to stay in a room that long and almost always ended up going out. On the roof or around town. Sometimes with Elijah. 

Once, Dom and Elijah got busted for fucking in an alley near Kings Cross Station and it was a damn good thing that Dom had remembered his phone and wasn't too drunk to call for help. Viggo had listened quietly for the span of Dom's breathless appeal and told him to wait and hung up. 

Two hours later, Viggo's solicitor, Ian, showed up with bail and escorted the two back to Everens, wordlessly, but with a slight smile. Elijah surpassed his own stultifying record by trying to seduce Ian in the back of the black taxi. The look on Elijah's face when Ian said no was something Dom laughed about for weeks. 

"Fucking cunt." Elijah said and meant the both of them.

He had cause to regret those words later. And when Viggo was done with him, he couldn't sit for a week. Dom faired a little better. Only a little. Viggo gave him to Ian for two days. When he came back, he was much chastened. 

~~~~~~~~~

The room was humid. God only knew why summers had gotten warmer in London, global warming or some shit like that. It made the nights sticky and thick and where their skin met, it made them slick with sweat. Orlando's hands twisted on the rail above his head, the highest rail of their bed, as Elijah rocked an agonizing rhythm straddling across Orlando's lap, hands flat on Orlando's chest. 

"Now, Lij…please" Orlando pleaded. "God you're beautiful." The graceful column of Elijah's neck, wide as his jaw, beckoned him like a siren, the pounding of Elijah's pulse, her song. Orlando could feel the blood lust rising and now, even after months of trying, he could barely keep it in check. 

Elijah looked down through lazy, pleasure soaked eyes at Orlando writhing under him and smiled his nasty fucking smile. "Yeah, do it…" he said, lips barely moving. He handed Orlando the knife. 

Orlando unclenched one hand and took the small blade from Elijah's outstretched fingers, turned it in his hand and laid the point of the blade just under Elijah's nipple. Elijah's nostrils flared, his breath dragged in roughly and he nodded, rising and then falling heavily on Orlando's cock. 

"Now, do it, Orli…now…" and his mouth opened wide as the knife sank into his flesh, carving a small crescent around the bottom half of his nipple. "Fuck…" He exhaled sharply and Orlando sat up straight, wrapped his arms around Elijah and lowered his mouth to the wound, sucking it greedily. Elijah wailed, his head dropped back and he plunged down frantically, chasing his climax and the need to back away from the pain. 

Orlando's lips and tongue worked the small wound and Elijah's generous nipple, Elijah's cries crashing through him more strongly than any drug and Orlando came, pumping helplessly into his attende. 

"Jesus, fuck…" Elijah said, softly as a prayer. 

~*~

2006

Elijah Wood wasn't scared of anyone. He was scrappy. He was tough. He was busted.

His ass clenched and tingled with adrenaline and his breath went from panting to flighty little gasps as he watched Viggo set up the room. 

He watched Viggo turn the bed down and draw the drapes back, tying them with fat ropes of satin braid. He watched Viggo move pillows and lay out blackened leather restraints and lengths of cable and chain. 

When Viggo threw back the heavy folds of black velvet curtain exposing an impressive wall of pain inducing implements, Elijah's courage began to shrivel and drip down his spine, vanishing in the blink of an eye. 

He swallowed. Elijah Wood might be afraid, but he would never show that to Viggo. He had a reputation to maintain. He was tough. He was scrappy. He was toast. 

He tried to edge himself backwards, away from the immense wooden chair where he'd been dumped and towards the heavily curtained doorway. His weight shifted slowly back, one hand, then another. 

Viggo continued busying himself with preparations, his movements smooth and graceful.

"Elijah." Viggo said threateningly, his voice barely above a whispered growl. "Come here." 

Elijah froze. Viggo looked over his shoulder, eyes shadowed behind a fall of his hair, and crooked his finger. Elijah shook his head, panic blossoming in the void left by his courage and began to scramble backwards, stumbling to his feet, fumbling towards the door, his hands flailing wildly for balance. 

And even as he moved he knew he'd never make it, the thought floated across his mind as he skidded up and slammed into Viggo's chest. He never saw Viggo move. 

"Elijah." Viggo's voice sounded like smoke and he wrapped one long fingered hand around Elijah's throat. "Don't run. It only makes it more exciting for me. And you don't want that," Viggo growled, lips close to one perfect ear, one hand on the small of Elijah's back. "Do you?" 

"Fuck off, fucker…fucking animal..." Elijah panicked, pressing his hands against Viggo's chest and lifting his foot to kick a knee cap or stomp a toe. Viggo looked up, annoyed, hands still firmly in place, immune to the small injuries Elijah caused. 

He sighed heavily and tightened his grip on Elijah's neck, released the slender lower back, and dragged Elijah, half bent, still kicking and swearing, toward the bed. 

"You kiss your Mother with that mouth? Christ, it's about time someone taught you some manners, you little shit. I'm beginning to think Billy's right about you," Viggo spoke all the while he was attaching Elijah's struggling form to the bed.

Elijah was simply no match for Viggo's ancient strength and complete lack of fear. Viggo didn't give a shit what Elijah thought or felt which made what they were about to do much easier. For Viggo, that is. Elijah continue his unbroken string of expletives, punctuating them with a kick or a snap of small white teeth. 

It took only a few moments for Viggo to truss Elijah to his satisfaction, buckling the final straps with a firm hand. There was only one piece left and Elijah fought hard as Viggo approached him with the ball gag. 

Viggo caught the width of Elijah's jaw in his hard fingers and pinched forcing Elijah's mouth to fall open and allowing him to shove the ball into place. Elijah's cursing was brought down to a dull mumble and he glared angrily at Viggo as the strap behind his neck and ears was tightened.

Viggo's hand slid down and Elijah could feel the blunt fingertips placed over the painful points on his jaw where they'd rested before. Viggo held him, approaching slowly until they were eye to eye and then smiled so that his teeth showed. Elijah felt a jolt of abject terror, his adrenaline shooting through him in an anxious burst making his fingers tingle and his mouth taste of copper.

He was done for. 

"Now, you little shit, it's time for a some redress." Viggo's teeth fascinated Elijah and he couldn't take his eyes off them as Viggo spoke. "You've been irresponsible, rude and insensitive, but mostly, you've been embarrassing. It's one thing to trick around town and fuck anything that moves. I don't mind that. It's your body, fuck it up all you want. But my family, my House, is something you may not toy with. Whatever you may do in the future, you will take great care…" He leveled his angry gaze at Elijah fiercely, "Great Care, Elijah…not to be arrested. Attention from the establishment is something I do not want and you came very close to drawing it not only to yourselves, but to me and my house. Do you understand?" 

Elijah nodded, tension ratcheting up his belly into knots. 

"Now, because you prize your freedom so highly, I've decided to take it away for a time." He made a show of adjusting Elijah's cuffs and the spreader bar between his knees as he spoke. "You'll stay here for two days. With me." He adjusted the cuffs on Elijah's upper arms and the wide band of leather around his naked chest. When he was done, he came back around and grabbed Elijah's chin. "You will have no say in what happens during this time. I will touch you, beat you, fuck you or feed from you as I wish. You are mine for forty eight hours. At the end, if I'm satisfied, I'll release you and Orlando can have you back." He came so close, Elijah was cross eyed looking at him. "And all will be forgotten. Nod if you understand me." 

Elijah began to shake and nodded his head, beads of sweat collecting on his brow, dampening his hair. 

"Very good." Viggo said, and stood up from the bed. On the bedside table were a two implements, a folded leather strap, laced into a gorgeous dragon headed handle, and a carved stone phallus, ridged and bulbous, glistening with oil. 

Elijah started to struggle despite his promise. He had no problem with kink or sick fucking. What he had a problem with was having no say, no freedom to agree or disagree. Viggo was right, being denied his freedom was agony and he began to bitterly regret his cocky attitude and rash decisions. 

Viggo took the phallus and held it up, the bulbous end over the tip of a candle, presumably warming it for its trip up Elijah's ass. Elijah would have been grateful if he wasn't in full on panic mode and he wriggled and cried out around the gag as the warmed blunt tip slid up and down between his butt cheeks. 

Viggo teased him with the monstrous dildo for an agonizingly long time. First along the seam of his ass and then under his balls, pressing up into the sensitive perineum over his prostate, separating his balls and pressing on the base of his cock and then back to circle his hole. 

Elijah was panting like a winded animal by the time Viggo breached him with the tip of the dildo and though he got fucked nearly every day, the sheer size of the phallus took his breath away and he screamed around the gag as the bumps passed into him, one nodule at a time. Viggo worked the dildo out and back in, each time with a nasty little twist right over his prostate that made Elijah shake and squirm. 

And Elijah was hard, his cock an elegant, slender beacon of lust begging for release. Once Viggo seated the dildo all the way in, he let go of the base and dug around in his pocket for a small leather cock ring. Elijah groaned as the smallish ring was snapped around the base of his shaft and balls. Of course he wouldn't be coming anytime soon.

Elijah felt the bed wobble as Viggo rolled off and yelped when Viggo rocked the protruding end of the dildo on his way. 

"Very good, Elijah. Very good. Now, let's take it up a notch, shall we?" Viggo's voice was gravelly and his words weren't out of his mouth before the length of strap snapped across the swell of Elijah's ass. The blow sent Elijah's hips forward, not far in the restraints, and he screamed, eyes squeezed closed, voice garbled by the gag. 

Elijah's position on the bed, bent forward, upper arms cuffed to the bed above, knees set in the spreader, meant he was at the perfect angle for a thorough and scouring ass beating. Viggo worked the strap up over the rise of Elijah's white ass, not so far as his lower back and then back down, covering the fair skin with inch wide stripes of blazing pain and fire. 

He spent an amount of time laying perfectly parallel lines along the crease between ass and thigh and the tops of his thighs. Elijah lost count of how many blows had come and concentrated solely on breathing through his nose and trying not to faint. 

Eventually the blows stopped and Elijah could allow himself to hang limp in his restraints, the chains holding him up, and sob. He was sorry now. So very sorry and worse, he had no way to convey his apology and realized that his was exactly what Viggo wanted. He didn't care for the words that such a beating would surely produce. He cared only that Elijah receive the beating and what ever else that was in store, with humility and acceptance. 

Elijah suddenly knew that this forty eight hours would most likely be the longest of his life. 

~~~~~~

Viggo was not cruel. That is to say, he was considerate and allowed Elijah to pee and kept him hydrated during the long hours of the night. Towards early morning, the sky not yet paling, Viggo put his toys away, each in turn cleaned and polished, and closed the cupboard. 

Elijah hung on the bed frame, hair a tangled mess of sweat, head low. He was red from ass to knees, the recipient of a number of Viggo's most painful devices. His nipples, now naked of their clips, were red and swollen, nearly the same color as his ass and thighs and his ass was empty, the enormous dildo cleaned and stored in it's ornately carved box. 

He made quite a debauched picture and Viggo decided, on the spur of the moment that a picture might just be the thing. He moved quickly, camera and lights came out of closet and bag and within the span of the suns rising, he had a dozen moody shots of Elijah's beaten form, artfull and ready to download at dusk when he arose. 

He quickly cleaned up and spent his last moments unbuckling Elijah, leaving the restraints hanging above his head as he was tucked into the huge soft bed. He spared the boy one moment of tenderness, a caress, moving wet hair off his brow, before he slipped out the back stair and down to the cellar to sleep.

~~~~~~

Elijah slept. He did not dream and he did not change position. For nearly twelve hours, he lay just as Viggo had laid him, sleeping so deeply that his breath barely stirred the covers. 

~~~~~~

Barely had the sun set before Viggo returned to the room. He sat in the wing back chair by the window looking alternately at the sunset and the still form of Elijah sleeping. He had enjoyed their time. It was punishment for Elijah, he knew that, but something about the way Elijah received it made the giving that much more pleasurable. 

Viggo wondered idly how far he could push Elijah. Without being able to free him, Viggo was limited to inflicting sensations on the boy, which left him with but few options. He thought about fisting but discarded it. The boy had nearly come from having the stone dildo in his ass, so a fist would be a pleasure, not a punishment. 

He'd yet to fuck or feed from Elijah and he wanted to save those for the end, when they would have the most impact. Elijah seemed most upset by loss of freedom, by being bound and silenced. So and so. 

Viggo rose and opened his closet. Inside, clumps of carefully rolled ropes in all colors hung from hooks in the walls. He selected several fifty foot lengths and closed the door. Tonight would be for immobility. Not pain.

He threw the covers back and began to tug Elijah's sleeping form onto his back. Elijah began to rouse and whispered a sleep roughened plea for water and freedom, one which Viggo granted, the other, he did not. 

He started by folding one rope in half and looping it around Elijah's neck, the knot laying just below the hollow of his throat. He made a series of knots, at the chest, navel, and groin then passed the ropes one on each side of Elijah's cock and balls and between his legs. 

With Viggo's help, Elijah managed to roll over to his belly and Viggo finished the diamond hitches up his back then tucked both Elijah's knees under his belly and knotted them apart, tied to the outside of the ropes on his chest. Elijah's wrists were tethered to his ankles and then up along this forearms where they met his calves until he was tied, ass up, immobile. 

Viggo stood back and looked. Elijah looked beautiful. Defenseless, waiting and ready to be fucked. Or beaten. Or simply left to alone. He decided on the last one and settled in the wing chair again, Elijah's curved back and reddened ass his only point of focus. 

Hours passed as he watched. At some point, Elijah had begun to cry, but it was soft and rather forelorn and Viggo decided that he liked the sound so he did nothing about it.

Deep in the night, Viggo rose, undressed and joined Elijah on the bed. 

"How do you feel, little one?" Viggo stroked one hand over Elijah's reddened skin and spoke into the shell of his ear. 

Elijah whispered, shaking, and wriggled in his bonds. "Aches, hurts. Please. Sorry."

Viggo stroked Elijah's back and ass as he retrieved the bottle of lube from the bedside table. He was quick, slicking his erection and wiping the residue in Elijah's ass, before he plunged down, opening Elijah brutally with his cock. It was sooner than he thought but he wanted Elijah now, wanted his ass and his blood and his small, crooning cries. 

"God! Fuck. Please. Fuck, fuck, Viggo, fuck." Elijah rocked with each thrust. 

"No more misbehaving, little one." Viggo slid his fingers into Elijah's hair and bent low over his back, thrusting as he spoke. "Understand me? Answer me, Now!" 

"Yes! God, yes, I understand…" Elijah was babbling, nearly incoherent. "Please, Viggo."

"Mmmm, yes. Now." Viggo growled and set his teeth to Elijah's neck and cut him. The blood shot warm into his mouth, heightening his pleasure and he grabbed shakily at Elijah's hip to steady himself. Elijah wailed and bucked under him, ass clenching as he came helplessly, his sperm wetting his belly and the silk bedcovers. 

Viggo moaned as his orgasm consumed him. So long since he'd last fed this way, with teeth from unwilling flesh. It was wild and exhilarating. It was almost always deadly. 

With great difficulty, he eased his teeth out of Elijah's neck, even now the wound was closing, and lay his forehead on Elijah's back, breathing heavily. 

"Oh god, oh god, oh god…" Elijah was mumbling, hips still stuttering, milking the last of Viggo's come from his softening cock. 

Viggo groaned and fell sidewards, his cock popping free with an undignified plop as he sprawled next to Elijah. 

"Jesus fuck, Elijah." He murmured.

Elijah simply looked at Viggo and tried very hard to breathe. 

~~~~~~~~

Elijah was good after that. S'blommie would have teased him but his time with Ian seemed to have dampened his joui de vivre. Elijah thought that was okay. All things considered.

A long time later, Elijah didn't know how long, really, Viggo put the photos up in his study. Elijah only found out by accident and he blushed like a virgin when he saw them.

Viggo thought that was pretty funny. 

Elijah didn't.

~*~

2006 Summer

"VIGGO!" Orlando was screaming. Had been screaming for nearly two hours. Why he wasn't hoarse, Billy would never know. That fucker had a set of lungs for such a quiet guy. 

"ELIJAH!" Orlando bellowed. "VIGGO! NOOOO!" There was a dull thud as Orlando threw himself against the solid wooden door, his nails scratching. They must be bloodied by now.

Billy turned the page, the crinkle of newsprint hopelessly small in the face of Orlando's furious noise. He poured more tea and began reading the sports page, content to let Orlando scream himself out. 

It was perhaps an hour later, Billy noticed there hadn't been screaming for a few minutes.  
He looked at the cellar door, its small window of blackness an eye to the dark abyss of the houses basement. 

He cocked his head, listening. He could just hear the soft rasp of Orlando's tortured breathing, the brush of his fingers against the wood. 

"Billy, please. Please let me out. Billy," Orlando whispered, barely a breath of sound.  
"Billy, Will, William, please. Please." 

Billy could smell him now. The scent of Orlando's blood, his sweat, drifted like ambrosia from under the cellar door igniting Billy's hunger. It was near time for him to disappear, to feed again. He would control it now. He always had. But the smell made him hard and hungry. 

He rose, tea in hand, and went to the door, the intoxicating blend of smells drawing him to where Orlando rested against the wood and stone. 

He pressed his hand against the wood where he knew Orlando's head would be. Knew it like he knew the moon was waxing dangerously and that soon, too soon, he would not be able to fight it. 

"Soon, Orlando. Soon." He murmured. And meant many things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, the moon's fat belly low over the skyline, Billy sat guard at the door again. His chair rested on two legs, the top spindles leant against the cellar door as he read the Economist and listened to Orlando's breathing. 

Orlando had not moved even during the daylight hours. He'd curled into a ball, shoulder in the corner and head on his knees as he waited, slept, woke and waited. Billy stayed with him. Quietly reading or simply sitting vigil through Orlando's suffering. 

At one point, Viggo had drifted silently through the kitchen, had stopped and met Billy's guarded gaze, impassive. Eyes dark and hard. After a moment, he went on, faded into the black mouth of the dining room door. 

Near dawn, he gently lowered his chair and dug in his pocket for his cell phone, punched speed dial and a number and waited, standing back to the door. 

After a moment, there was a click and a gruff hello followed by some throat clearing. 

"It's time, Eric." Billy said and flipped the phone closed. 

~~~~~~~~~~

A mere ten minutes later the sky was turning rose-gold when there was a heavy pounding on the kitchen door. Billy could feel Orlando start and stand, fingers hooked through the rough iron bars of the doors small window. The nails of Orlando's hand were cracked and broken, or had been for they seemed nearly healed, the rough cake of blood the last remnants of his injury. 

When Billy opened the door, it's space was filled with broad dark shoulders and a long wooly coat. Perhaps too heavy for this time of year but descretion was key. Billy had chosen Eric for that. And for his strength. 

Billy was swept into the giant's embrace and they rubbed nose to nose and cheek to cheek, inhaling each other's scent and humming softly. Before Eric set Billy down he cupped the back of Billy's head and drew him in for a deep kiss. He was growling when they drew apart, Eric's hands clutching Billy's ass and cupping the back of his neck. 

"Easy, boy. We've a problem to attend to." Billy pushed ineffectually at Eric's arms, demanding to be let go. 

"Not yet, Bill," Eric hummed and kissed Billy again, rubbing the whole of his body on Billy, for all the world looking as though he were marking territory. "You smell like Viggo." he grumbled.

"I do 'not', bugger. I smell like me." He cuffed Eric affectionately and Eric reluctantly set him back on his feet. 

"That's not what your skin says." Eric smiled down, infuriatingly smug. "So where's your little vamp, Billy?" He walked toward the cellar door, Orlando's fingers and scent drawing him in and he licked his lips, tasting the air. 

"So. Here you are, bloodkyn. Ready to come out?" Eric caressed the door, listening for Orlando's reactions. Billy could hear Orlando's breath speeding. It was near dawn, there was little time for any sort of shenanigans. This had to go smoothly or they'd loose Orlando. Or Elijah, or both, god help them. 

Behind them, steps sounded on the stair and Viggo entered the kitchen, Elijah cradled in his arms, spent and sweaty, barely conscious, his clothes, what were left of them, in stripped rags. 

Orlando's hand clutched suddenly at the bars and he screamed. "ELIJAH!" 

Billy looked at Eric, who looked back and him. "On the count of three. One." Billy set his hand on the knob. "Two." Eric rested his fingers on the ancient iron key. "Three" Eric threw the bolt and Billy turned the knob and together they drew the door open. Orlando's frantic form wiggled and pushed wildly through the slowly opening door but he was not fast enough. 

Eric's arms swept around him and Billy completed the form by circling his arms around Orlando from behind. Between them, they were just able to keep Orlando from springing at Viggo. 

"Elijah! Please, let me go. Let. Me. Go. Damn you." Orlando, still immensely strong even after two days behind the cellar door and no food, fought with every part of his being. 

Viggo stood, watching. "Let him go, Billy, Eric." 

Eric and Billy looked at each other and Eric shrugged, dropping his arms away.

Orlando was on Viggo in a flash, murmuring low and anxious, touching Elijah everywhere, assuring himself of Elijah's breath and warmth. He dragged Elijah out of Viggo's arms and drew the small body close, hugging the narrow shoulders and gently resting the tousled head under his chin. 

"He's fine, Orlando." Viggo said, low and raspy. 

Orlando's response was to bare his fangs, upper and lower, hissing quietly, dangerously. A moment later they were gone down the steps to the crypt.

"That went well." Billy said, brushing his hands on his upper thighs. "Tea anyone?" 

Eric snorted a laugh and nodded. Billy put the kettle on. Viggo stood looking into the inky blackness of the open crypt door thinking that the time was coming when Orlando would need a shorter chain. A very much shorter chain. 

~~~~~~~~

Below, in the inky blackness of the crypt, Orlando laid Elijah gently on their bed. Already the heavy weight of dawn was dragging his awareness down and he bitterly resented it, wanting more than anything to stay awake and tend to Elijah. He tenderly stripped what was left of Elijah's clothes away and brought water and a clothe, wiping the worst of the sweat and come from his inert body. 

Then, barely awake, he climbed between the covers and drew Elijah's body into the hollow of his own, eyes drifting irresistably closed. He slept.

~~~~~~~~

"The moon is full." Eric rumbled, his breath stirring the curled hairs on the back of Billy's neck. Billy shivered.

"I know." Billy said and clasped Eric's larger hand against his belly. Eric barely moved, his cock gently surging and drawing from Billy with lazy ecstacy. "Mmmmm, god, yer good 'a that." Billy murmured and arched his back, drawing Eric deeper inside him. 

"I know." Eric whispered and set his teeth to Billy's neck.

~~~~~~~

Viggo watched the day dawn for as long as he could. Hampstead Heathe was green as ever and the rose of morning light made the colors shimer and deepen. 

What to do with his wayward vamp? 

He'd have to think of something. 

But not now. Now the leaves rippled in the wind and the bells from the little church tolled the morning call to prayer. 

He closed his eyes and breathed in the day.

~*~

2006 Summer

When Dom had come to Viggo's house, as a cousin, the first thing he'd done was choose a room with an immense Victorian clawed tub and hot running water. Dom was a hedonist, a sensualist bar none and he loved nothing more than spending an hour soaking in a steaming and fragrant tub of water in a basin that fit his entire body laying down. 

Viggo used to watch him bathing. Long before he'd chosen Dom as his attende, he would clamber down to Dom's balcony and sit on the railing, a hundred feet above the ground watching Dom lay in the water, his face suffused with the physical manifestation of joy. 

Viggo marveled at the expression. Wanted it. Sometimes, Dom's eyes would open, hot jade under sooty lashes and they would watch each other. For nearly a fortnight they performed this slow seduction. 

For Dom, there was no one else. He'd known the instant he'd opened the door to Viggo. Vamps came and went. A quiet stream of them passing through Viggo's house. Some stayed. Most left. Dom let them feed from him. Or not. Mostly, he lay back, winced as the knife cut and closed his eyes, dreaming of Viggo's teeth. Viggo's hands. 

On night, another faceless and nameless Vamp chose Dom and fed from him in front of Viggo. Dom smiled. The Vamp thought he was making some sort of statement, feeding in front of the head of the house. Viggo was unmoved, reclined decadently in his chair, watching through slitted eyes as the tiny knife cut Dom's shoulder and the Vamp's hand slid down the front of Dom's pants. 

Dom hissed at the double sensation, eyes on Viggo, cock aching for Viggo's touch. 

When he felt the first words, Viggo's first words to him, "You are mine." form in his mind, he came with a shout. 

"YES." 

Viggo smiled. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The beauty of Dom's bathtub was it fit the both of them perfectly. Viggo, of course, didn't need to bathe, but he did it anyway. They would lay in the hot water in the earlier hours of the evening or watch the sunset through Dom's bathroom window and talk quietly. Sometimes, Viggo fucked Dom in the bath. Slowly and with great tenderness until Dom shook and shuddered, his trembling stirring the water around them.  
"It's Orli, innit. He's why you're dark. I can feel it." Dom's hands wandered over Viggo, made softer by the warmth of the water and the fragrant oils. 

Viggo watched him for a moment. Intently. 

"How did you get so perceptive, Amante? Hmmm?" He lifted a lock of hair, wet and tangled, away from Dom's forehead and smiled wryly. "Yes." He cupped Dom's face and kissed him. "What should I do?" 

Dom kissed Viggo. Kissed him soft and hard. On the lips. On the chin, a place he loved, on the cheek and neck. When he got to Viggo's ear he began to whisper, between soft and biting kisses and as he spoke, Viggo's eyes drooped closed and his face set grimly.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Elijah was beautiful. Viggo watched with hunger the expanse of Elijah's back bend and yaw with each of Orlando's slow upwards thrusts. The sight made him hungry. The remembered taste of Elijah's flesh arrowing through him. 

He moved with blinding swiftness coming to rest behind Elijah, legs under Orlando's bent knees. Elijah gasped and arched back as Viggo's arm slid around his chest and Orlando startled, sitting up only to find Viggo's other hand around his neck. 

They froze, panting and gasping, a tableau of power exchange and erotic tension. Orlando's hands came up and clasped Viggo's wrist though it did nothing to ease the hold on his neck and Elijah's head came to rest on Viggo's shoulder, his soft pink mouth open, eyes staring blindly at the carved stone ceiling. 

"Elijah," Viggo rumbled into the boy's ear.

"Master…" Elijah whispered and gasped a sobbing breath. 

"Who do you belong to, attende?" Sea blue eyes burned into midnight dark and Orlando drew his lips away from his teeth. "Who? Dammit, boy, answer." Viggo barked and he shook Elijah, tightening his arm, baring his own teeth. 

"You, Master. You, I belong to you. You, Viggo." Elijah was gasping, his throat working frantically, Viggo's teeth just inches away from the long sloping muscle of his shoulder. 

"Yes, little one. Me. You 'both'," and he tightened his grip on Orlando's throat. "belong to 'me'. Never…never…forget that." 

"Elijah…" Orlando groaned, pain written on his face plainly. 

"No, Orli…" Elijah gasped. 

Viggo's hand slid down Elijah's chest, slid over his hip and between them, deep between their bodies, eyes still fixed on Orlando's face as he gripped the base of Orlando's cock, smearing lube and cum over his balls then wiping the residue on his own cock and fitting it to Orlando's ass. 

Orlando's eyes widened with fear as he felt the blunt heavy tip press at his anus, frozen in Viggo's grip and unable, or unwilling to fight. Viggo breached Orlando's ass, stabbing with short angry thrusts and watched Orlando's face as the boy's mouth dropped open at the sensation.

Viggo pushed Orlando back, his hand freed from its task, pushed Elijah on top of him and he leaned down, fixed his eyes on Orlando over the rise of Elijah's shoulder as he fucked, bared his teeth and set them to Elijah's back. 

Elijah howled. Wailed. Thrashed between the two fighting fucking Vamps. Orlando was gasping, grunting into each thrust, hands still clamped to Viggo's wrist, eyes burning. With anger. And other things. 

Heartwrenching moments later, Viggo lifted his mouth, red and messy from Elijah's back. "Thank you, little one." He murmured and unceremoniously dragged him from between them and tossed him away. 

"Orli!" he cried out and bounced over the edge of the bed and thumped onto the floor. In moments his fingers tipped over the edge but Viggo saw them and turned. "Stay. There." He growled, and Elijah shrank back, hugging his knees, his chest and neck stained with blood. 

Now Viggo lay fully on Orlando, cock deep, hand still gripping the slender tanned throat, his mouth bloody, fangs exposed. Orlando hissed, drawing back his lips and snapping at Viggo with his straight white teeth and fangs. 

"Bastard! Fucking bastard." Orlando wheezed out, tucked his feet up under his ass and heaved them off the bed. Viggo called out as they landed, rolling across the turkey carpet, arms and legs scrabbling and tangling. Orlando fought wildly but Viggo was stronger and heavier and Orlando ended up on his knees, face to the carpet, cursing wildly. 

"You little cunt. You," Viggo speared Orlando with his cock and Orlando shouted. "are becoming a nuisance." He punctuated the words with wicked downward thrusts. "You will strive," he grunted, grinding and screwing down. "to become a functioning member of this family." Orlando cried out again, wincing. "Or you will find a new and distantplace to live." 

"Viggo…" Elijah had crept closer to them, sat down at the end of the bed, hand extended.

Viggo turned and growled at Elijah, full on snarling, teeth bared and brow grown ridged and prominent. "Elijah!" he hissed. And Elijah scrambled back in terror.  
One long hand fisted the wild mane of Orlando's hair and Viggo pulled, lifting Orlando's face from the carpet. "You. Are. Mine." Viggo ground out. "Say it." He demanded. "Say. It. Orlando. Say it now, or you leave and Elijah stays. Say it." Viggo's lips were brushing Orlando's ear now, leaving streaks of Elijah's blood on his cheek. Orlando's fingers dug into the carpet and he growled his frustration, writhing. 

"Get off me you fucker…" 

"Say it." Viggo demanded. 

"Fuck…" 

"Say. It." 

Orlando roared, full throated, and growled and snarled, his own face showing the angled ridges along each brow that marked him for what he was. But try as he might, Viggo was stronger, heavier, darker and Orlando's cry of submission was followed by a breathy gasp of a yes. 

The breath and fight went out of Orlando then and he slumped to the carpet under Viggo. The hands in his hair turned soft and Viggo withdrew, his cock a wet and forgotten thing as he rolled Orlando to his side and dragged the sagging boy into his lap, caressing his face, his hair, his arm and shoulder. 

"Orlando" he said and, "my beautiful boy" and "thank you." 

Elijah watched. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Near dawn, Viggo stirred and opened his eyes. Elijah was curled in the hollow of his body and Orlando lay facing them, one hand tangled with Elijah's, one foot between Elijah's. 

He was tired, pleasantly, and a mess of fluids, mostly come and blood. 

"where are you, amante?" he murmured into Dom's mind. 

"in the kitchen. Where else?" humor crackled through Dom's words. 

Viggo smiled and went to find his attende.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You smell like a whore house, Viggo." Dom raised an eyebrow at him. "You alright? They still here?"  
"Mmmm. Fine." He snagged Dom's tea and swallowed some. "Yeah," he said and slung an arm around his attende. "They're mine." 

"Good." 

~*~

2006 Summer

"Run with me, Billy, unghhh…" there was no mistaking the naked hunger in Eric's voice. Billy pulled back against the circle of Eric's arms, grunted into the new angle, fought for focus. His hands were tight knots clutching the wings of the old covered chair.

"I don't..ah, fucking hell, Eric…" Billy shook, his breath studdering out. "I don't kill. Not anymore." Billy dropped his chin whooping up a big lungful of air and groaned, screwing himself down on Eric's cock. 

"I know." Eric leaned up against Billy, his hands sliding up the straining back and gathering Billy's tawny hair in a double fisted grasp. "You've been away too long." He growled hungrily into Billy's ear. "We've mis…'I' have missed you. Come with me." 

Through the tall paned windows, the baleful eye of the moon shone, casting long dark shadows across the turkey carpet. Billy watched it break slowly free of the skyline and when the last spire had released its grasp, he felt the inevitable tug of change in his belly. 

He gasped, folding down into Eric's embrace, eyes screwed shut. "Eric…" was all he managed before the change took his voice, pulling his throat tight and lengthening his jaw painfully. His words became a howl and he reversed, arching back, fingers turning to claws and the hair at his nape running rampantly down his spine. 

Eric pulled an agonizing tension on Billy's shoulders as his hands too, snubbed and clawed. He thrust brutally with the last of his human strength and the change in his cock, fatter and thickly blunted, shot his climax deep inside Billy's tightening body. 

In moments they'd become a tangle of furred limbs, snarling, lips drawn back from fanged teeth, biting and fighting for dominance. Billy's sleek tawny form, angular and wolf like, a stark contrast to Eric's enormous black mastiff. 

Eric's weight brought Billy down and he clamped his teeth on the scruff of fur at Billy's throat, stilling, heart thundering in his narrow canine chest. His thoughts had simplified. Win. Hunt. Feed. Fuck. And Billy. With Billy. 

Billy yipped, snarling and snapping, trying to free himself from the massive weight across his chest. But no amount of squirming seemed to work and he finally stilled, Eric's teeth clamped on his neck, his nostrils filled with the heady scents of sex and man and, far away, food. 

Eric seemed to understand that he'd been submitted to and released Billy from his hold. Billy righted himself and galloped past Eric, through the heavily carved library doors, heading instinctively out of the house and towards the Heathe, Eric hot on his heels. 

~~~~~~~~~

Viggo watched the dogs as they made the turn from the driveway gate out into the mews. Watched as they barked and nipped at each other, growling and once, skidding over each other into a frantic heap, then righting themselves and scampering off into the night. 

He watched the dogs with joy and sadness.

Billy was with his own. But Viggo would miss him. Very much.

~~~~~~~~~

Billy woke slowly with the feeling that his hand was frozen in a block of ice. Actually, it lay in water, a small stream that he recognized as one that ran through the extreme north end of the Heathe. 

His hand was cold and yet he was warm. And it was his hand, not paw in the water. And he was pleasantly full. Happily full. 

Eric's arm was curled around him, the high cool grasses whispered in the quiet breeze and though it was very faint, he could smell honeysuckles that hung in drapes around them. 

He smiled.

~~~~~~~~

"What are you smiling about?" Eric rumbled and breathed Billy's scent.

"How do you know I'm smiling, bastard?" Billy whispered.

Eric smiled. "I can feel you." 

"Wanker. I'm full. So full. What, oh, God, 'who' did we eat?" 

Eric sighed, then nuzzling the back of Billy's neck, began to tell him.

"His name was Nigel Whitstead. He was, let's just say, not a good man. He was stalking his latest victim, a girl around 14 walking through the Heathe at night, stupid bird." 

Eric kept talking, telling about the night three days ago and as he spoke, images flitted through Billy's mind; of a man, pasty faced with small angry eyes and a red scarf on, the look on his face as he spied on the girl, and the one on his face when he turned just as Eric snapped his neck, ripping through the scarf and tearing his throat out. How it felt when his muzzle caught the scent of hot blood and his belly, cramped with hunger, became an irresistible force. And the joy, pure and sinful, of a snout buried in soft entrails. 

"Oh, god. Eric. Oh, god. Ohgodohmygod. I can't, I don't…jesus, Eric." Billy smelled his own tears, could feel Eric shifting, if possible, closer to him. Crooning. 

"Bill, Billy, it's okay. That's why we pick them out first. Billy, hush. Bill, hush, shhhhh." Eric's big hand stroked Billy from chest to hip and back, shushing and whispering softly.

It was a long time before Billy could speak again. 

"Take me home, Eric." 

And so Eric did.

~~~~~~~~

Dom was in the kitchen frying up breakfast when Billy and Eric got there. For the first time in what felt like years, Billy wasn’t hungry and the smell of cooking meat didn't make him sick. With Eric at his back and the domestic scene before him, he felt like a man of two worlds. 

And quite suddenly, he didn't know which to choose. 

Dom turned from the stove, his face exploded into a magnificent grin and ran to Billy, nearly knocking him flat. He would have but with Eric behind him, he just ended up smashed between them. 

"Billy, oh my god. Bills I thought you were gone. Damn it, you fucker." Dom's words tumbled out. But he was shaking and Billy could smell his tears. 

"'s Okay, Sblommie. 's okay." He sounded calm but he returned Billy's hug furiously. 

"Billy." Viggo said, quietly from the dining room door. Billy looked up, over Dom's shoulder at Viggo. For perhaps the first time since he'd known Viggo, he saw him look other than his composed self. He looked, lost. 

"Viggo, I…" Billy unwound himself from Dom and turned to Eric. "Please, Eric." He said.

Eric nodded, cupping Billy's cheek in his hand and kissing him softly on the mouth before releasing him. Billy covered Eric's hand with his own and turned into it, laying a soft kiss to his palm. "Just, wait for me. Wait. Please." He murmured. Eric nodded again.

Billy turned away, turned towards Viggo and suddenly they all knew something deep was happening, changing, being changed. Billy felt it and he was sure Viggo and Dom did as well. And Eric knew he was it and that he was causing it. 

Billy flew to Viggo and Viggo opened his arms, accepting the offered embrace, eyes closed against the pain. "Billy." He whispered. "Don't go. Don't…" 

"Viggo, it's not like that. I'm not choosing between you." He stopped so he could lay his hands on Viggo's face, so they could look in each others eyes. "But Eric showed me, he showed me I can't run. Not anymore. I…"

He turned to look over his shoulder, expecting to see Eric at the kitchen door but Eric was there, behind him, laid his hands on Billy's shoulders and Billy turned back to Viggo. "I don't want to take something away, Viggo. I want to 'add' something. Something for me. Please. 'Please.'" 

Eric and Viggo looked at each other and Eric slid one of his arms around Billy, both claiming and protecting. And what ever Viggo saw in Eric's eyes, it must have satisfied him, because he smiled. First at Eric. Then at Billy. 

"Welcome." Viggo said. 

And he was. 

~*~

2006

On the fifth of March, Cate took a wrong turn coming home from the Heath with Matches and Took and stumbled on a crook in Merton Lane where number two sat. Matches, the braver of the two collies ran ahead sniffing the gates avidly while Took stopped with Cate, who put her hand on the fence and looked at the huge old edifice. 

She swung her bag off her shoulder and dug into the gaping mouth for her camera, touched the outer case and withdrew the sleek silver body as she looked back up at the arching upper windows under the steeply gabled roof, lifted the camera to her eye and pressed the shutter.

~~~~~~~~~

"Come along you lot…" Cate urged the dogs in through the open front door and smiled as they clattered down the hall. She closed the door, hung up her coat and dropped her bag on the entry table to dig out her camera. 

"Welcome home." The words came drifting from the kitchen. "Sorry I missed your walk. I'd've liked to get out today." Marton came to the kitchen door, mug in hand, smiling. 

"The Heath was lovely. Match almost had that rabbit. Or so he thought." She walked into the man's embrace and they kissed softly. "I found a lovely old house."

"Did you? It must be something, you've got your camera out." He stepped around her so he could see the digital view screen over her shoulder, took a moment to tuck a stray red tress behind her ear and slid his hand around her waist. 

"Oh, it is. It's lovely, Marton, I can't wait to show you. Look," and she held the view screen up. 

"Mmmmm. Yes. It's a lovely heap of stone. Where ever did you find such a broken down old ruin?" He rumbled.

"Lout." She said affectionately and elbowed him in the belly. He made a soft whuff and his arm tightened.

They both looked at photo after photo and were quiet for the span of a good solid minute. 

"Number two, Merton Lane." Cate finally murmured. 

"Oh? I didn't know Merton Lane had a number two. I thought it started at fifteen. Where it crosses the Kings Road." He looked at the photo more intently. "Let's get these downloaded." he said, absently as he walked away from her. 

"Right." she answered and followed him down the hall to their office.

Marton was across the partner desk, punching keys on this computer while Cate plugged the camera into the jack and began to download the images to her hard drive. 

"Mmmm. As I thought, Merton lane, according to this map, dated May of 2002, starts on the Kings Road at number fifteen." He pushed a few keys and the printer began to whir , the printed paper edging out in sharp little jerks. 

Cate raised an eyebrow, her look a question. 

"But I was there, today." She rose from her chair and walked around the large desk to his side. He handed her the map and pointed out the cross street he was speaking of. 

"Just here, see?" His fingernail rested just below the juncture.

"Yes. I do." She took the paper and looked at it intently. "Marton?"

"Mmmm?" 

"What is that?" she pointed to the short green line leading up to the opposite side of the intersection. "If that line were black," she mused. "wouldn't it be a street?" 

Marton was looking closely at the map. "Yes, I suppose it would be." He turned back to his monitor and keyboard. "Let's look at a map that's a bit older, shall we?" He said tapping away.

"Yes, lets." Cate smiled. 

~~~~~~~~~

"A Mews." Marton said, walking through from the kitchen.

She was engrossed in a map and didn't look up. "A what, darling?"

"A Mews. On Merton Lane. As in, the old stables, turned housing turned un-mapped lane." Marton rolled his chair next to her and sat down. The paper in his hand was old, like skin, and the color of tea. She caressed the edge with her fingertips then rested them on his hand.

"How odd." She murmured.

He looked at her bent head, the soft turn of her cheek. "Why odd? Mews are quite common to old houses."

She looked up. "No, I know. Yes. It's just that this particular house is so…lost. It's as though time has passed it by. Where are the shops on the corner or the other houses or flats near by? This house has none of that. It's sitting on prime property, right off the Heath and yet there's nothing around it. Look," she pointed to the map she'd been working on. 

"See here? That's the old carriage house. Now, look at these." She shuffled the maps and brought another tea colored sheet to the top. "these houses are also of that size, on different parts of the Heath and their carriage houses are gone, or converted. And so are their mews houses. So, why not this one?" She looked up at him, eyes cornflower blue, full of questions.

"I don't know, Catie-bird." He said. 

~~~~~~~~~

"Cate!" Marton closed the door on the cold shifting winds and petted Match on the head as he unwound his scarf. "Catie!" he called again, louder. Match cocked his head. "Where is that girl, eh, Matches? And where's Took?" He walked down the hall, Match on his heels. 

"Cate?" He put the kettle on in the kitchen and went into the office, clicked on his computer and flipped through the mail. He dropped the pile of envelopes and looked across the desk, at Cate's empty chair lit blue by the dull light of her monitor, at the door to the garden, slightly ajar. 

He found her note taped crookedly to the center of her monitor. 

Gone to Merton Lane. Back soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

He could tell by her breathing that she wasn't sleeping. He rolled toward her, molding himself along her slim back and nuzzled her neck. 

"You're awake." He whispered against her skin. She smelled like apple blossoms.

"Mmmm. So it would seem." She shifted her hips, rocked them deeper in the fold of his body, pressed against him. "I went by Merton Lane today." She whispered.

He stilled. Waiting. "And?"

"There was someone there. A man. Looking from the window." Her voice was soft and clear. Unafraid.

"Cate." He began.

"I know. I shouldn't've gone round again. Not so soon. He'll think I'm stalking him." 

He smiled and pressed his lips to her shoulder. "Well, he'll be happy to learn you're only stalking his house." 

She burbled a small laugh. "Yes. Well. Not that knowing that would reassure him." She sighed. " I'd love to go inside."

"Have you heard from the registry?" He asked.

"Mmm, no. It's taking them forever." She slid her hand over his and drew it over her belly, pressing his palm to her breast. 

He made love to her slowly. In his quiet way. And afterwards, as he slept, she looked out the window at the night sky, thinking about Merton Lane and the man in the window.

~~~~~~~~~~

"The lady with the dogs was back today." Eric said, casually. 

Viggo looked up from his book and arched an eyebrow. "That's twice this week." He thought for a moment. "What does our friend in the registry say?" 

Eric swirled the brandy in his glass and sniffed its aroma. "That she's harmless. A scholar with a penchant for old houses." 

Viggo thought quietly for a while. "Do we know her name?" 

"Cate." Eric said, quietly. "Cate Blanchett"

~*~

Elijah wasn't young anymore. By human standards he still looked like a young man in his twenties, ask anyone on the street to look at him and comment and they'd most likely agree. But the baby fat was gone from his cheeks and the long angled muscles of his neck stood out, all softness worn away by years of living at night and being sucked dry. 

Viggo watched them together, how they'd changed, calmed to a steady heat, and noted the frayed quality to Elijah's movements. How his smile was that much less ready, his gate less agile, how sometimes he caught himself on the counter, steadying, and hid it with a playful sway. 

He thought about the choice Elijah would have to make. The choice he, himself, would be making by laying it out for the young man. No one lasted long as an attendee. Elijah had lasted longer than most. But the time was coming, and soon, when it would be too late and Viggo would not loose family again so soon. 

~*~

Cigars and brandy. Viggo didn't eat. None of the family ate real food much. But through all of the centuries, he found he couldn't give up those simple pleasures. More so now that Billy was home to share them. 

Weeks went by with Bills and Viggo holed up in the library, smoking, talking, about the family and the finances and life in the new world. Though now they'd been silent for a while. The conversation dying off, the butts smoldering low, glasses nearly empty. 

"Tell me about Elijah." Billy's voice surprised him out of the stillness. He drew breath and let it go, wondering how he'd ever thought to evade his friends' keen intuition. Billy watched him with hunter's eyes and a stillness that Viggo found reassuring and unsettling at once. 

"It's time." He said simply.

Billy nodded and looked at the fire. "And Orlando?" he asked.

Viggo looked past Billy, past the fire and remembered the years it took to civilize Orlando. How even now he wasn't good with people. Rarely left the house, never took another attendee, even under duress. To lose Elijah would finish him. To bring Elijah into the family would be another sort of loss though Elijah might still choose to live with them. He would never be Orlando's attendee, never feed his vamp again. In the end it would have to be Elijah's choice. 

"Loosing Elijah will finish him, Viggo." Billy said, low and soft. 

Viggo nodded. He knew. They all did. 

~*~

Dawn was the hardest for Orlando. He was still young as vamps go and the light bit into him like shards of glass, jagged, sharp. Elijah could tell time by Orlando's sensitivity to it, how he would become quiet and move farther into the shadows of the room, or nearer the stair. He never mentioned it, just let Orlando drift away, let him go to their room, to sleep. 

Now, these days, Elijah found himself taking that time to look at the day. He'd make tea, something light to eat and go to the roof with his tray to sit and watch the sun rise over Hampstead Heath. 

He marveled again at the green. The sheer abundance of lush growth and how it shimmered in the morning sun. More often than not, his tea would grow cold, his food left uneaten as he watched with rapped attention, the park come to life and wonder how he'd become so comfortable being apart from it. 

There was no regret in his thoughts, only remembrance, and fondness for time long gone. At twenty six, he no longer felt the dreaming endless possiblities of life. He didn't mourn their loss. 

He ran his hand over the curving scars on the inside of his elbow, the map of Orlando's possession, his passion writ on Elijah's skin. Not with love, never that. But need. Necessity. He was necessary. 

The cords stood out on his wrists. He turned his hands over and noted the deep valleys between the bones on his hands, how they looked tense and strained though he was relaxed and sated from the night. 

And Viggo had been watching him. For some time now he'd catch the vamp's measuring stare, missing nothing, not the tremors or the brittle edge to his laughter. And he was afraid. Terrified. 

~*~

"Don't be afraid." Viggo set gentle hands on Elijah's shoulders. The sun had not yet broken over the humped shadowed trees and steam still curled from Elijah's cup of tea. He stilled. 

"Viggo," he whispered, frozen, looking over the same landscape yet seeing nothing. He felt the angry knot of tension writhe in his belly. "I can't," but the words wouldn't come. He shook.

Viggo's hands tightened, cool yet reassuring in their strength. 

"Do you want me to do it?" Viggo said. 

Tears gathered in Elijah's eyes, filled, over filled and fell yet the words still would not come. There would be no turning back, no change of mind. The riotous green of the Heath exploded before him as the sun's rays touched them and he thought about never seeing Orlando again. Never touching him, being touched, never feeding him again. He was breaking. 

"Please," he whispered. 

There was a moment, no longer than a few panting breaths, where nothing happened. The Heath continued to be green and the sky became opal-blue-pink and then Viggo was sliding down his back, wrapping him in his arms, the sharp prick of teeth to the sloping muscle of his shoulder and he was falling back, falling away under the pressure and pleasure of being fed upon. 

He dropped his head back and let it wash over him, his cock gone hard, hands reaching for narrow hips only to find the wider, more solid muscles of Viggo's thighs behind him. His heart hammered, trying to keep time with the blood he was loosing, the last blood he would ever loose and in a moment it was over and Viggo's teeth were gone. 

The blood, when it hit his tongue was bitter, dark and hot and he gagged wrenching away from the offering. Bile rose in his throat, threatening and Viggo's hand closed over his neck, forcing his head back and his mouth open to receive him. 

He drank. Washed the human taste of vomit from his throat with the thick copper tang of blood, felt it coil down, a living thing, a killing thing into his guts. He coughed, pushed Viggo's arm away and fell writhing to the stones beneath him. He could feel his heart slamming and scrabbled over the stones, trying to escape, trying to go back but even as he moved his heart began to slow and his muscles gave way and he collapsed, eyes wide.

The sun breaching the crenulated wall of Everings was his last mortal sight. 

~*~

"It's done." Viggo said. 

Dom rolled over, the covers tangling around his hips, his sleepy gaze taking in all of his lover's body in one lazy sweep. He opened his arms and Viggo sank into them like a dead weight, his breath a cool sweep over Dom's shoulder. 

"Where is he?" Dom whispered, dreading the answer. Wishing it was here, alive, safe. Knowing it was not. He held his breath.

"Below the tower." Viggo said. And that was all. He was here, now he was family. 

"He's family now. You did the right thing, Viggo. It was time." he didn't say these things to reassure only to say them, to say something so Viggo could hear him, so Viggo had something to hear. "The rest will sort itself out, don't worry about that. Rest now, rest." 

Viggo's arms tightened around him and he felt the velvet soft of lips just before the nick of teeth and the rush of heat. Viggo rolled him back, dragged up over him and Dom felt Viggo's need to conquer, to mark and claim. He'd made Elijah, changed him, but could not claim him. Elijah had been Orlando's and now he was his own. 

Pleasure crested, Dom felt Viggo driving him hard and even as they pushed and ground together, Dom wondered how much longer he could stay like this. How much longer he would belong to Viggo before he too would have to make the same choice. 

Viggo fell to the bed beside him, lapped gently at the wound on his shoulder and stroked his flank. Dom felt the soft woof of breath across his neck, felt Viggo laying quiet, sated but still tense. 

"I want you to go to him." Viggo said and slid his arm over Dom's waist, followed the length of his arm with soft fingers and twined their hands together. "Help Elijah. Help them both." Dom stiffened, tense. 

"Viggo." he whispered.

"He knows you. He trusts you." Viggo said and kissed Dom's shoulder. "Let it be my gift to him. To them both." 

Dom nodded.


	2. Everens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic: Everens NC-17  
> Jun. 1st, 2006 08:55 pm  
> gherkins: (big blow)[personal profile] gherkins  
> In the Porcelain and Bittersweet verse.  
> Orlijah with hints of Vig/Billy, DomLijah...etc.  
> Vamp fic.  
> betas: Namarie120 and Mousewrites. All other mistakes are mine.

2006

Orlando always felt the dusk. Sleeping, silent and still, in the darkest cellar, farthest from the rounded Roman arch leading to the old road, the instant the sun sank below the reaching oak trees, his eyes opened and he inhaled the dusk like air. Beside him, Elijah would continue to sleep, his mortal senses dulled to the changing time, even to the minute movements of his master.

Orlando watched Elijah sleep. Waiting, thirsty.

Elijah was just fucked up enough that sleeping with Orlando was a thrill. He loved their sex, loved being cut by the knife and the rough attack on the wound was almost enough to make him come. He and Orlando, they were a good match.

Elijah mumbled into his pillow and rolled towards Orlando, arm outstretched. It landed with a dull thump on Orlando's chest and he smiled, long fingers coming up to stroke a path from wrist to inner elbow. Elijah shivered and woke, slapping at the teasing hand.

"Fuck off. Fucker…tickle...sleeping…dammit…" he snuffled from under the pillow.

Orlando rolled towards him, drawn by his bed-warm smooth skin and the sound of his blood, and molded himself to the length of Elijah's slim body hungrily, caresses turning to rough groping.

"Can't very well be sleeping if you're telling me off, can you?" He slid one arm around Elijah's waist and pulled them together as he whispered in the soft shell of Elijah's ear. "It's dusk, Lij. I'm hungry…" he licked a path from the angled muscle of shoulder to the slim column of neck and Elijah shivered. He wanted to use his teeth. One day, maybe Lij would let him.

"When are you 'not' hungry? Fucking animal…Christ…unghh…god, that's good."

Elijah's hand drifted back, settled on Orlando's hip, pulling him closer as they rocked together. "Fuck me…while you…do it…"

Orlando let go of Elijah long enough to move his cock between Elijah's cheeks and press, licked his palm to moisten the head and slide it back into the darkened cleft, into Elijah.

"Hand me the knife…" Orlando ground out and Elijah released him, clutching for the small handle and handing it over his shoulder into Orlando's grasp. He thrust slowly, deeply, Elijah's panting breaths guiding him. In the dim light, Elijah's back was a creamy expanse of skin etched with the passage of the knife he held, scarred in a swirling Byzantine pattern of use.

Orlando dug his arm under Elijah, wrapped it around his chest, anchoring him against the slow rhythm as he chose where the next mark would go. He'd started on the rounded ball of muscle on Elijah's right shoulder, the design a mix of Arabic letters and sweeping vines and tendrils that now played down his shoulder blade. He selected a section of skin beneath the word 'dark' and began to cut a graceful lacy half leaf.

The blood pearled, black in the half light of the dusk to mortal eyes, red as rubies to his own and he licked across the wound, hungrily, growling. The cutting nearly always sent Elijah spiraling towards orgasm and he cried out when Orlando's lips sealed over the wound and he sucked.

"Oh, god, fuck fuck, Orli…good."

The litany of pleasure washed over Orlando and he made himself slow down and hear it, tried to let it warm him as much as the blood in his belly. Sometimes he could. Sometimes.

By the time he'd drunk his fill, the wound was closing and Elijah had come and lay limp in his arms. He licked over the fresh pink lines of the leaf he'd drawn and thought about the Prince who'd taught him to make the graceful lines with pen and ink.

~~~~~~~~~

Viggo returned to Everens in the spring to find his homecovenfamily barely keeping themselves from killing one another. Billy spent most of his time trying to tame Orlando and while he was the strongest of them, Billy that is, he was having a hard time trying to make Orlando care about something. Something other than fucking and sucking his attende.

Elijah wasn't much help. Half the time he was tricking around clubs, smoking, fucking and generally making a nuisance of himself. He called it his 'freedom', and defended it viciously, for which Billy never let him alone.

"Cocksucking little fucking whore…" was how Billy usually spoke of Elijah. Though sometimes affection crept into his tone and destroyed any sort of credibility for his anger.

When Elijah was gone, Billy locked Orlando below in the darkened stone cellars to keep him from tearing through the London nightlife looking for him. It wasn't that Orlando was jealous, exactly, more like…addicted. He rarely spoke to anyone other than Elijah, even months after his arrival.

Having Dom back in the fold went a long way toward soothing Billy and, frankly, Dom loved Britain and hated the east, Orlando not withstanding. Dom and Elijah had become cousins the same year and at first had slept in a tangle like puppies right up until Viggo had taken Dom as his attende.

In truth, they were all Viggo's. He fed from each of them periodically, like a stallion and his herd. But it was also true that he loved them, in his own odd and distant way. His humor was dry and self-effacing which was why he loved London and Dom and Billy.

Billy was no one's attende. And in a strange sense, everyone's. Billy wasn't like them. He was, something else apart. No one knew what for sure, but sometimes, he disappeared for a week and when he came back, that quirky laugh of his came back with him. Where he lost it to begin with was anyone's guess.

Viggo wouldn't talk about it but Billy and he would spend hours in the farthest ruined Salon, smoking those huge, stinking stogies while Billy drank whiskey and sometimes, black rum from an unmarked bottle. Dom was too restless to stay in a room that long and almost always ended up going out. On the roof or around town. Sometimes with Elijah.

Once, Dom and Elijah got busted for fucking in an alley near Kings Cross Station and it was a damn good thing that Dom had remembered his phone and wasn't too drunk to call for help. Viggo had listened quietly for the span of Dom's breathless appeal and told him to wait and hung up.

Two hours later, Viggo's solicitor, Ian, showed up with bail and escorted the two back to Everens, wordlessly, but with a slight smile. Elijah surpassed his own stultifying record by trying to seduce Ian in the back of the black taxi. The look on Elijah's face when Ian said no was something Dom laughed about for weeks.

"Fucking cunt." Elijah said and meant the both of them.

He had cause to regret those words later. And when Viggo was done with him, he couldn't sit for a week. Dom faired a little better. Only a little. Viggo gave him to Ian for two days. When he came back, he was much chastened.

~~~~~~~~~

The room was humid. God only knew why summers had gotten warmer in London, global warming or some shit like that. It made the nights sticky and thick and where their skin met, it made them slick with sweat. Orlando's hands twisted on the rail above his head, the highest rail of their bed, as Elijah rocked an agonizing rhythm straddling across Orlando's lap, hands flat on Orlando's chest.

"Now, Lij…please" Orlando pleaded. "God you're beautiful." The graceful column of Elijah's neck, wide as his jaw, beckoned him like a siren, the pounding of Elijah's pulse, her song. Orlando could feel the blood lust rising and now, even after months of trying, he could barely keep it in check.

Elijah looked down through lazy, pleasure soaked eyes at Orlando writhing under him and smiled his nasty fucking smile. "Yeah, do it…" he said, lips barely moving. He handed Orlando the knife.

Orlando unclenched one hand and took the small blade from Elijah's outstretched fingers, turned it in his hand and laid the point of the blade just under Elijah's nipple. Elijah's nostrils flared, his breath dragged in roughly and he nodded, rising and then falling heavily on Orlando's cock.

"Now, do it, Orli…now…" and his mouth opened wide as the knife sank into his flesh, carving a small crescent around the bottom half of his nipple. "Fuck…" He exhaled sharply and Orlando sat up straight, wrapped his arms around Elijah and lowered his mouth to the wound, sucking it greedily. Elijah wailed, his head dropped back and he plunged down frantically, chasing his climax and the need to back away from the pain.

Orlando's lips and tongue worked the small wound and Elijah's generous nipple, Elijah's cries crashing through him more strongly than any drug and Orlando came, pumping helplessly into his attende.

"Jesus, fuck…" Elijah said, softly as a prayer.


	3. Redress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic: Redress NC-17  
> Jun. 5th, 2006 11:26 pm  
> gherkins: (Default)[personal profile] gherkins  
> This is for Mouse. Cause I promised and cause she did something very brave today.
> 
> In the Porcelain and Bittersweet Verse.  
> Vig/Lijah  
> Adult with a side of kink.  
> This is why Elijah couldn't sit down for a week in story two.

2006

Elijah Wood wasn't scared of anyone. He was scrappy. He was tough. He was busted.

His ass clenched and tingled with adrenaline and his breath went from panting to flighty little gasps as he watched Viggo set up the room.

He watched Viggo turn the bed down and draw the drapes back, tying them with fat ropes of satin braid. He watched Viggo move pillows and lay out blackened leather restraints and lengths of cable and chain.

When Viggo threw back the heavy folds of black velvet curtain exposing an impressive wall of pain inducing implements, Elijah's courage began to shrivel and drip down his spine, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

He swallowed. Elijah Wood might be afraid, but he would never show that to Viggo. He had a reputation to maintain. He was tough. He was scrappy. He was toast.

He tried to edge himself backwards, away from the immense wooden chair where he'd been dumped and towards the heavily curtained doorway. His weight shifted slowly back, one hand, then another.

Viggo continued busying himself with preparations, his movements smooth and graceful.

"Elijah." Viggo said threateningly, his voice barely above a whispered growl. "Come here."

Elijah froze. Viggo looked over his shoulder, eyes shadowed behind a fall of his hair, and crooked his finger. Elijah shook his head, panic blossoming in the void left by his courage and began to scramble backwards, stumbling to his feet, fumbling towards the door, his hands flailing wildly for balance.

And even as he moved he knew he'd never make it, the thought floated across his mind as he skidded up and slammed into Viggo's chest. He never saw Viggo move.

"Elijah." Viggo's voice sounded like smoke and he wrapped one long fingered hand around Elijah's throat. "Don't run. It only makes it more exciting for me. And you don't want that," Viggo growled, lips close to one perfect ear, one hand on the small of Elijah's back. "Do you?"

"Fuck off, fucker…fucking animal..." Elijah panicked, pressing his hands against Viggo's chest and lifting his foot to kick a knee cap or stomp a toe. Viggo looked up, annoyed, hands still firmly in place, immune to the small injuries Elijah caused.

He sighed heavily and tightened his grip on Elijah's neck, released the slender lower back, and dragged Elijah, half bent, still kicking and swearing, toward the bed.

"You kiss your Mother with that mouth? Christ, it's about time someone taught you some manners, you little shit. I'm beginning to think Billy's right about you," Viggo spoke all the while he was attaching Elijah's struggling form to the bed.

Elijah was simply no match for Viggo's ancient strength and complete lack of fear. Viggo didn't give a shit what Elijah thought or felt which made what they were about to do much easier. For Viggo, that is. Elijah continue his unbroken string of expletives, punctuating them with a kick or a snap of small white teeth.

It took only a few moments for Viggo to truss Elijah to his satisfaction, buckling the final straps with a firm hand. There was only one piece left and Elijah fought hard as Viggo approached him with the ball gag.

Viggo caught the width of Elijah's jaw in his hard fingers and pinched forcing Elijah's mouth to fall open and allowing him to shove the ball into place. Elijah's cursing was brought down to a dull mumble and he glared angrily at Viggo as the strap behind his neck and ears was tightened.

Viggo's hand slid down and Elijah could feel the blunt fingertips placed over the painful points on his jaw where they'd rested before. Viggo held him, approaching slowly until they were eye to eye and then smiled so that his teeth showed. Elijah felt a jolt of abject terror, his adrenaline shooting through him in an anxious burst making his fingers tingle and his mouth taste of copper.

He was done for.

"Now, you little shit, it's time for a some redress." Viggo's teeth fascinated Elijah and he couldn't take his eyes off them as Viggo spoke. "You've been irresponsible, rude and insensitive, but mostly, you've been embarrassing. It's one thing to trick around town and fuck anything that moves. I don't mind that. It's your body, fuck it up all you want. But my family, my House, is something you may not toy with. Whatever you may do in the future, you will take great care…" He leveled his angry gaze at Elijah fiercely, "Great Care, Elijah…not to be arrested. Attention from the establishment is something I do not want and you came very close to drawing it not only to yourselves, but to me and my house. Do you understand?"

Elijah nodded, tension ratcheting up his belly into knots.

"Now, because you prize your freedom so highly, I've decided to take it away for a time." He made a show of adjusting Elijah's cuffs and the spreader bar between his knees as he spoke. "You'll stay here for two days. With me." He adjusted the cuffs on Elijah's upper arms and the wide band of leather around his naked chest. When he was done, he came back around and grabbed Elijah's chin. "You will have no say in what happens during this time. I will touch you, beat you, fuck you or feed from you as I wish. You are mine for forty eight hours. At the end, if I'm satisfied, I'll release you and Orlando can have you back." He came so close, Elijah was cross eyed looking at him. "And all will be forgotten. Nod if you understand me."

Elijah began to shake and nodded his head, beads of sweat collecting on his brow, dampening his hair.

"Very good." Viggo said, and stood up from the bed. On the bedside table were a two implements, a folded leather strap, laced into a gorgeous dragon headed handle, and a carved stone phallus, ridged and bulbous, glistening with oil.

Elijah started to struggle despite his promise. He had no problem with kink or sick fucking. What he had a problem with was having no say, no freedom to agree or disagree. Viggo was right, being denied his freedom was agony and he began to bitterly regret his cocky attitude and rash decisions.

Viggo took the phallus and held it up, the bulbous end over the tip of a candle, presumably warming it for its trip up Elijah's ass. Elijah would have been grateful if he wasn't in full on panic mode and he wriggled and cried out around the gag as the warmed blunt tip slid up and down between his butt cheeks.

Viggo teased him with the monstrous dildo for an agonizingly long time. First along the seam of his ass and then under his balls, pressing up into the sensitive perineum over his prostate, separating his balls and pressing on the base of his cock and then back to circle his hole.

Elijah was panting like a winded animal by the time Viggo breached him with the tip of the dildo and though he got fucked nearly every day, the sheer size of the phallus took his breath away and he screamed around the gag as the bumps passed into him, one nodule at a time. Viggo worked the dildo out and back in, each time with a nasty little twist right over his prostate that made Elijah shake and squirm.

And Elijah was hard, his cock an elegant, slender beacon of lust begging for release. Once Viggo seated the dildo all the way in, he let go of the base and dug around in his pocket for a small leather cock ring. Elijah groaned as the smallish ring was snapped around the base of his shaft and balls. Of course he wouldn't be coming anytime soon.

Elijah felt the bed wobble as Viggo rolled off and yelped when Viggo rocked the protruding end of the dildo on his way.

"Very good, Elijah. Very good. Now, let's take it up a notch, shall we?" Viggo's voice was gravelly and his words weren't out of his mouth before the length of strap snapped across the swell of Elijah's ass. The blow sent Elijah's hips forward, not far in the restraints, and he screamed, eyes squeezed closed, voice garbled by the gag.

Elijah's position on the bed, bent forward, upper arms cuffed to the bed above, knees set in the spreader, meant he was at the perfect angle for a thorough and scouring ass beating. Viggo worked the strap up over the rise of Elijah's white ass, not so far as his lower back and then back down, covering the fair skin with inch wide stripes of blazing pain and fire.

He spent an amount of time laying perfectly parallel lines along the crease between ass and thigh and the tops of his thighs. Elijah lost count of how many blows had come and concentrated solely on breathing through his nose and trying not to faint.

Eventually the blows stopped and Elijah could allow himself to hang limp in his restraints, the chains holding him up, and sob. He was sorry now. So very sorry and worse, he had no way to convey his apology and realized that his was exactly what Viggo wanted. He didn't care for the words that such a beating would surely produce. He cared only that Elijah receive the beating and what ever else that was in store, with humility and acceptance.

Elijah suddenly knew that this forty eight hours would most likely be the longest of his life.

~~~~~~

Viggo was not cruel. That is to say, he was considerate and allowed Elijah to pee and kept him hydrated during the long hours of the night. Towards early morning, the sky not yet paling, Viggo put his toys away, each in turn cleaned and polished, and closed the cupboard.

Elijah hung on the bed frame, hair a tangled mess of sweat, head low. He was red from ass to knees, the recipient of a number of Viggo's most painful devices. His nipples, now naked of their clips, were red and swollen, nearly the same color as his ass and thighs and his ass was empty, the enormous dildo cleaned and stored in it's ornately carved box.

He made quite a debauched picture and Viggo decided, on the spur of the moment that a picture might just be the thing. He moved quickly, camera and lights came out of closet and bag and within the span of the suns rising, he had a dozen moody shots of Elijah's beaten form, artfull and ready to download at dusk when he arose.

He quickly cleaned up and spent his last moments unbuckling Elijah, leaving the restraints hanging above his head as he was tucked into the huge soft bed. He spared the boy one moment of tenderness, a caress, moving wet hair off his brow, before he slipped out the back stair and down to the cellar to sleep.

~~~~~~

Elijah slept. He did not dream and he did not change position. For nearly twelve hours, he lay just as Viggo had laid him, sleeping so deeply that his breath barely stirred the covers.

~~~~~~

Barely had the sun set before Viggo returned to the room. He sat in the wing back chair by the window looking alternately at the sunset and the still form of Elijah sleeping. He had enjoyed their time. It was punishment for Elijah, he knew that, but something about the way Elijah received it made the giving that much more pleasurable.

Viggo wondered idly how far he could push Elijah. Without being able to free him, Viggo was limited to inflicting sensations on the boy, which left him with but few options. He thought about fisting but discarded it. The boy had nearly come from having the stone dildo in his ass, so a fist would be a pleasure, not a punishment.

He'd yet to fuck or feed from Elijah and he wanted to save those for the end, when they would have the most impact. Elijah seemed most upset by loss of freedom, by being bound and silenced. So and so.

Viggo rose and opened his closet. Inside, clumps of carefully rolled ropes in all colors hung from hooks in the walls. He selected several fifty foot lengths and closed the door. Tonight would be for immobility. Not pain.

He threw the covers back and began to tug Elijah's sleeping form onto his back. Elijah began to rouse and whispered a sleep roughened plea for water and freedom, one which Viggo granted, the other, he did not.

He started by folding one rope in half and looping it around Elijah's neck, the knot laying just below the hollow of his throat. He made a series of knots, at the chest, navel, and groin then passed the ropes one on each side of Elijah's cock and balls and between his legs.

With Viggo's help, Elijah managed to roll over to his belly and Viggo finished the diamond hitches up his back then tucked both Elijah's knees under his belly and knotted them apart, tied to the outside of the ropes on his chest. Elijah's wrists were tethered to his ankles and then up along this forearms where they met his calves until he was tied, ass up, immobile.

Viggo stood back and looked. Elijah looked beautiful. Defenseless, waiting and ready to be fucked. Or beaten. Or simply left to alone. He decided on the last one and settled in the wing chair again, Elijah's curved back and reddened ass his only point of focus.

Hours passed as he watched. At some point, Elijah had begun to cry, but it was soft and rather forelorn and Viggo decided that he liked the sound so he did nothing about it.

Deep in the night, Viggo rose, undressed and joined Elijah on the bed.

"How do you feel, little one?" Viggo stroked one hand over Elijah's reddened skin and spoke into the shell of his ear.

Elijah whispered, shaking, and wriggled in his bonds. "Aches, hurts. Please. Sorry."

Viggo stroked Elijah's back and ass as he retrieved the bottle of lube from the bedside table. He was quick, slicking his erection and wiping the residue in Elijah's ass, before he plunged down, opening Elijah brutally with his cock. It was sooner than he thought but he wanted Elijah now, wanted his ass and his blood and his small, crooning cries.

"God! Fuck. Please. Fuck, fuck, Viggo, fuck." Elijah rocked with each thrust.

"No more misbehaving, little one." Viggo slid his fingers into Elijah's hair and bent low over his back, thrusting as he spoke. "Understand me? Answer me, Now!"

"Yes! God, yes, I understand…" Elijah was babbling, nearly incoherent. "Please, Viggo."

"Mmmm, yes. Now." Viggo growled and set his teeth to Elijah's neck and cut him. The blood shot warm into his mouth, heightening his pleasure and he grabbed shakily at Elijah's hip to steady himself. Elijah wailed and bucked under him, ass clenching as he came helplessly, his sperm wetting his belly and the silk bedcovers.

Viggo moaned as his orgasm consumed him. So long since he'd last fed this way, with teeth from unwilling flesh. It was wild and exhilarating. It was almost always deadly.

With great difficulty, he eased his teeth out of Elijah's neck, even now the wound was closing, and lay his forehead on Elijah's back, breathing heavily.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god…" Elijah was mumbling, hips still stuttering, milking the last of Viggo's come from his softening cock.

Viggo groaned and fell sidewards, his cock popping free with an undignified plop as he sprawled next to Elijah.

"Jesus fuck, Elijah." He murmured.

Elijah simply looked at Viggo and tried very hard to breathe.

~~~~~~~~

Elijah was good after that. S'blommie would have teased him but his time with Ian seemed to have dampened his joui de vivre. Elijah thought that was okay. All things considered.

A long time later, Elijah didn't know how long, really, Viggo put the photos up in his study. Elijah only found out by accident and he blushed like a virgin when he saw them.

Viggo thought that was pretty funny.

Elijah didn't.


	4. Wailing Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic: The Wailing Wind  
> Jun. 26th, 2006 09:35 pm  
> gherkins: (Default)[personal profile] gherkins  
> In the Porcelain and Bittersweet 'Verse.  
> You didn't think Orlando was just gonna lay back and let Viggo have his way with Elijah, did you?  
> No, of course not.  
> NC-17  
> Various pairings  
> Lotrips  
> Seriously AU.

2006 Summer

"VIGGO!" Orlando was screaming. Had been screaming for nearly two hours. Why he wasn't hoarse, Billy would never know. That fucker had a set of lungs for such a quiet guy.

"ELIJAH!" Orlando bellowed. "VIGGO! NOOOO!" There was a dull thud as Orlando threw himself against the solid wooden door, his nails scratching. They must be bloodied by now.

Billy turned the page, the crinkle of newsprint hopelessly small in the face of Orlando's furious noise. He poured more tea and began reading the sports page, content to let Orlando scream himself out.

It was perhaps an hour later, Billy noticed there hadn't been screaming for a few minutes.  
He looked at the cellar door, its small window of blackness an eye to the dark abyss of the houses basement.

He cocked his head, listening. He could just hear the soft rasp of Orlando's tortured breathing, the brush of his fingers against the wood.

"Billy, please. Please let me out. Billy," Orlando whispered, barely a breath of sound.  
"Billy, Will, William, please. Please."

Billy could smell him now. The scent of Orlando's blood, his sweat, drifted like ambrosia from under the cellar door igniting Billy's hunger. It was near time for him to disappear, to feed again. He would control it now. He always had. But the smell made him hard and hungry.

He rose, tea in hand, and went to the door, the intoxicating blend of smells drawing him to where Orlando rested against the wood and stone.

He pressed his hand against the wood where he knew Orlando's head would be. Knew it like he knew the moon was waxing dangerously and that soon, too soon, he would not be able to fight it.

"Soon, Orlando. Soon." He murmured. And meant many things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, the moon's fat belly low over the skyline, Billy sat guard at the door again. His chair rested on two legs, the top spindles leant against the cellar door as he read the Economist and listened to Orlando's breathing.

Orlando had not moved even during the daylight hours. He'd curled into a ball, shoulder in the corner and head on his knees as he waited, slept, woke and waited. Billy stayed with him. Quietly reading or simply sitting vigil through Orlando's suffering.

At one point, Viggo had drifted silently through the kitchen, had stopped and met Billy's guarded gaze, impassive. Eyes dark and hard. After a moment, he went on, faded into the black mouth of the dining room door.

Near dawn, he gently lowered his chair and dug in his pocket for his cell phone, punched speed dial and a number and waited, standing back to the door.

After a moment, there was a click and a gruff hello followed by some throat clearing.

"It's time, Eric." Billy said and flipped the phone closed.

~~~~~~~~~~

A mere ten minutes later the sky was turning rose-gold when there was a heavy pounding on the kitchen door. Billy could feel Orlando start and stand, fingers hooked through the rough iron bars of the doors small window. The nails of Orlando's hand were cracked and broken, or had been for they seemed nearly healed, the rough cake of blood the last remnants of his injury.

When Billy opened the door, it's space was filled with broad dark shoulders and a long wooly coat. Perhaps too heavy for this time of year but descretion was key. Billy had chosen Eric for that. And for his strength.

Billy was swept into the giant's embrace and they rubbed nose to nose and cheek to cheek, inhaling each other's scent and humming softly. Before Eric set Billy down he cupped the back of Billy's head and drew him in for a deep kiss. He was growling when they drew apart, Eric's hands clutching Billy's ass and cupping the back of his neck.

"Easy, boy. We've a problem to attend to." Billy pushed ineffectually at Eric's arms, demanding to be let go.

"Not yet, Bill," Eric hummed and kissed Billy again, rubbing the whole of his body on Billy, for all the world looking as though he were marking territory. "You smell like Viggo." he grumbled.

"I do 'not', bugger. I smell like me." He cuffed Eric affectionately and Eric reluctantly set him back on his feet.

"That's not what your skin says." Eric smiled down, infuriatingly smug. "So where's your little vamp, Billy?" He walked toward the cellar door, Orlando's fingers and scent drawing him in and he licked his lips, tasting the air.

"So. Here you are, bloodkyn. Ready to come out?" Eric caressed the door, listening for Orlando's reactions. Billy could hear Orlando's breath speeding. It was near dawn, there was little time for any sort of shenanigans. This had to go smoothly or they'd loose Orlando. Or Elijah, or both, god help them.

Behind them, steps sounded on the stair and Viggo entered the kitchen, Elijah cradled in his arms, spent and sweaty, barely conscious, his clothes, what were left of them, in stripped rags.

Orlando's hand clutched suddenly at the bars and he screamed. "ELIJAH!"

Billy looked at Eric, who looked back and him. "On the count of three. One." Billy set his hand on the knob. "Two." Eric rested his fingers on the ancient iron key. "Three" Eric threw the bolt and Billy turned the knob and together they drew the door open. Orlando's frantic form wiggled and pushed wildly through the slowly opening door but he was not fast enough.

Eric's arms swept around him and Billy completed the form by circling his arms around Orlando from behind. Between them, they were just able to keep Orlando from springing at Viggo.

"Elijah! Please, let me go. Let. Me. Go. Damn you." Orlando, still immensely strong even after two days behind the cellar door and no food, fought with every part of his being.

Viggo stood, watching. "Let him go, Billy, Eric."

Eric and Billy looked at each other and Eric shrugged, dropping his arms away.

Orlando was on Viggo in a flash, murmuring low and anxious, touching Elijah everywhere, assuring himself of Elijah's breath and warmth. He dragged Elijah out of Viggo's arms and drew the small body close, hugging the narrow shoulders and gently resting the tousled head under his chin.

"He's fine, Orlando." Viggo said, low and raspy.

Orlando's response was to bare his fangs, upper and lower, hissing quietly, dangerously. A moment later they were gone down the steps to the crypt.

"That went well." Billy said, brushing his hands on his upper thighs. "Tea anyone?"

Eric snorted a laugh and nodded. Billy put the kettle on. Viggo stood looking into the inky blackness of the open crypt door thinking that the time was coming when Orlando would need a shorter chain. A very much shorter chain.

~~~~~~~~

Below, in the inky blackness of the crypt, Orlando laid Elijah gently on their bed. Already the heavy weight of dawn was dragging his awareness down and he bitterly resented it, wanting more than anything to stay awake and tend to Elijah. He tenderly stripped what was left of Elijah's clothes away and brought water and a clothe, wiping the worst of the sweat and come from his inert body.

Then, barely awake, he climbed between the covers and drew Elijah's body into the hollow of his own, eyes drifting irresistably closed. He slept.

~~~~~~~~

"The moon is full." Eric rumbled, his breath stirring the curled hairs on the back of Billy's neck. Billy shivered.

"I know." Billy said and clasped Eric's larger hand against his belly. Eric barely moved, his cock gently surging and drawing from Billy with lazy ecstacy. "Mmmmm, god, yer good 'a that." Billy murmured and arched his back, drawing Eric deeper inside him.

"I know." Eric whispered and set his teeth to Billy's neck.

~~~~~~~

Viggo watched the day dawn for as long as he could. Hampstead Heathe was green as ever and the rose of morning light made the colors shimer and deepen.

What to do with his wayward vamp?

He'd have to think of something.

But not now. Now the leaves rippled in the wind and the bells from the little church tolled the morning call to prayer.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the day.


	5. London Pastoral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic: London Pastoral  
> Jun. 28th, 2006 04:49 pm  
> gherkins: (Default)[personal profile] gherkins  
> Author: fra  
> In the Porcelain and Bittersweet 'Verse.  
> This falls after the Wailing Wind.  
> Summary: Billy's past comes to call.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Various pairings, Billy/Eric and some Viggo.  
> Lotrips/rps/Seriously AU.  
> Other stories in this verse:  
> Porcelain and Bittersweet -  
> Everens -  
> Redress -  
> The Wailing Wind -  
> Somewhat South of Normal -  
> London Pastoral -  
> House on Merton Lane - 
> 
> fra

2006 Summer

"Run with me, Billy, unghhh…" there was no mistaking the naked hunger in Eric's voice. Billy pulled back against the circle of Eric's arms, grunted into the new angle, fought for focus. His hands were tight knots clutching the wings of the old covered chair.

"I don't..ah, fucking hell, Eric…" Billy shook, his breath studdering out. "I don't kill. Not anymore." Billy dropped his chin whooping up a big lungful of air and groaned, screwing himself down on Eric's cock.

"I know." Eric leaned up against Billy, his hands sliding up the straining back and gathering Billy's tawny hair in a double fisted grasp. "You've been away too long." He growled hungrily into Billy's ear. "We've mis…'I' have missed you. Come with me."

Through the tall paned windows, the baleful eye of the moon shone, casting long dark shadows across the turkey carpet. Billy watched it break slowly free of the skyline and when the last spire had released its grasp, he felt the inevitable tug of change in his belly.

He gasped, folding down into Eric's embrace, eyes screwed shut. "Eric…" was all he managed before the change took his voice, pulling his throat tight and lengthening his jaw painfully. His words became a howl and he reversed, arching back, fingers turning to claws and the hair at his nape running rampantly down his spine.

Eric pulled an agonizing tension on Billy's shoulders as his hands too, snubbed and clawed. He thrust brutally with the last of his human strength and the change in his cock, fatter and thickly blunted, shot his climax deep inside Billy's tightening body.

In moments they'd become a tangle of furred limbs, snarling, lips drawn back from fanged teeth, biting and fighting for dominance. Billy's sleek tawny form, angular and wolf like, a stark contrast to Eric's enormous black mastiff.

Eric's weight brought Billy down and he clamped his teeth on the scruff of fur at Billy's throat, stilling, heart thundering in his narrow canine chest. His thoughts had simplified. Win. Hunt. Feed. Fuck. And Billy. With Billy.

Billy yipped, snarling and snapping, trying to free himself from the massive weight across his chest. But no amount of squirming seemed to work and he finally stilled, Eric's teeth clamped on his neck, his nostrils filled with the heady scents of sex and man and, far away, food.

Eric seemed to understand that he'd been submitted to and released Billy from his hold. Billy righted himself and galloped past Eric, through the heavily carved library doors, heading instinctively out of the house and towards the Heathe, Eric hot on his heels.

~~~~~~~~~

Viggo watched the dogs as they made the turn from the driveway gate out into the mews. Watched as they barked and nipped at each other, growling and once, skidding over each other into a frantic heap, then righting themselves and scampering off into the night.

He watched the dogs with joy and sadness.

Billy was with his own. But Viggo would miss him. Very much.

~~~~~~~~~

Billy woke slowly with the feeling that his hand was frozen in a block of ice. Actually, it lay in water, a small stream that he recognized as one that ran through the extreme north end of the Heathe.

His hand was cold and yet he was warm. And it was his hand, not paw in the water. And he was pleasantly full. Happily full.

Eric's arm was curled around him, the high cool grasses whispered in the quiet breeze and though it was very faint, he could smell honeysuckles that hung in drapes around them.

He smiled.

~~~~~~~~

"What are you smiling about?" Eric rumbled and breathed Billy's scent.

"How do you know I'm smiling, bastard?" Billy whispered.

Eric smiled. "I can feel you."

"Wanker. I'm full. So full. What, oh, God, 'who' did we eat?"

Eric sighed, then nuzzling the back of Billy's neck, began to tell him.

"His name was Nigel Whitstead. He was, let's just say, not a good man. He was stalking his latest victim, a girl around 14 walking through the Heathe at night, stupid bird."

Eric kept talking, telling about the night three days ago and as he spoke, images flitted through Billy's mind; of a man, pasty faced with small angry eyes and a red scarf on, the look on his face as he spied on the girl, and the one on his face when he turned just as Eric snapped his neck, ripping through the scarf and tearing his throat out. How it felt when his muzzle caught the scent of hot blood and his belly, cramped with hunger, became an irresistible force. And the joy, pure and sinful, of a snout buried in soft entrails.

"Oh, god. Eric. Oh, god. Ohgodohmygod. I can't, I don't…jesus, Eric." Billy smelled his own tears, could feel Eric shifting, if possible, closer to him. Crooning.

"Bill, Billy, it's okay. That's why we pick them out first. Billy, hush. Bill, hush, shhhhh." Eric's big hand stroked Billy from chest to hip and back, shushing and whispering softly.

It was a long time before Billy could speak again.

"Take me home, Eric."

And so Eric did.

~~~~~~~~

Dom was in the kitchen frying up breakfast when Billy and Eric got there. For the first time in what felt like years, Billy wasn’t hungry and the smell of cooking meat didn't make him sick. With Eric at his back and the domestic scene before him, he felt like a man of two worlds.

And quite suddenly, he didn't know which to choose.

Dom turned from the stove, his face exploded into a magnificent grin and ran to Billy, nearly knocking him flat. He would have but with Eric behind him, he just ended up smashed between them.

"Billy, oh my god. Bills I thought you were gone. Damn it, you fucker." Dom's words tumbled out. But he was shaking and Billy could smell his tears.

"'s Okay, Sblommie. 's okay." He sounded calm but he returned Billy's hug furiously.

"Billy." Viggo said, quietly from the dining room door. Billy looked up, over Dom's shoulder at Viggo. For perhaps the first time since he'd known Viggo, he saw him look other than his composed self. He looked, lost.

"Viggo, I…" Billy unwound himself from Dom and turned to Eric. "Please, Eric." He said.

Eric nodded, cupping Billy's cheek in his hand and kissing him softly on the mouth before releasing him. Billy covered Eric's hand with his own and turned into it, laying a soft kiss to his palm. "Just, wait for me. Wait. Please." He murmured. Eric nodded again.

Billy turned away, turned towards Viggo and suddenly they all knew something deep was happening, changing, being changed. Billy felt it and he was sure Viggo and Dom did as well. And Eric knew he was it and that he was causing it.

Billy flew to Viggo and Viggo opened his arms, accepting the offered embrace, eyes closed against the pain. "Billy." He whispered. "Don't go. Don't…"

"Viggo, it's not like that. I'm not choosing between you." He stopped so he could lay his hands on Viggo's face, so they could look in each others eyes. "But Eric showed me, he showed me I can't run. Not anymore. I…"

He turned to look over his shoulder, expecting to see Eric at the kitchen door but Eric was there, behind him, laid his hands on Billy's shoulders and Billy turned back to Viggo. "I don't want to take something away, Viggo. I want to 'add' something. Something for me. Please. 'Please.'"

Eric and Viggo looked at each other and Eric slid one of his arms around Billy, both claiming and protecting. And what ever Viggo saw in Eric's eyes, it must have satisfied him, because he smiled. First at Eric. Then at Billy.

"Welcome." Viggo said.

And he was.

~~~~~~~~~~


	6. Somewhat South of Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic: Somewhat South of Normal  
> Jul. 3rd, 2006 01:12 pm
> 
> Still firmly planted in the Porcelain and Bittersweet 'Verse.  
> This falls after The Wailing Wind by a few weeks. But before London Pastoral.  
> Pairings: Viggo/All, Dom, Elijah, Orlando  
> Warnings: I'm not sure. Blood. Dubious consent. Violence.  
> Notes: I had a hard time with this one. But they kept needling me so here it is.
> 
> fra

2006 Summer

When Dom had come to Viggo's house, as a cousin, the first thing he'd done was choose a room with an immense Victorian clawed tub and hot running water. Dom was a hedonist, a sensualist bar none and he loved nothing more than spending an hour soaking in a steaming and fragrant tub of water in a basin that fit his entire body laying down.

Viggo used to watch him bathing. Long before he'd chosen Dom as his attende, he would clamber down to Dom's balcony and sit on the railing, a hundred feet above the ground watching Dom lay in the water, his face suffused with the physical manifestation of joy.

Viggo marveled at the expression. Wanted it. Sometimes, Dom's eyes would open, hot jade under sooty lashes and they would watch each other. For nearly a fortnight they performed this slow seduction.

For Dom, there was no one else. He'd known the instant he'd opened the door to Viggo. Vamps came and went. A quiet stream of them passing through Viggo's house. Some stayed. Most left. Dom let them feed from him. Or not. Mostly, he lay back, winced as the knife cut and closed his eyes, dreaming of Viggo's teeth. Viggo's hands.

On night, another faceless and nameless Vamp chose Dom and fed from him in front of Viggo. Dom smiled. The Vamp thought he was making some sort of statement, feeding in front of the head of the house. Viggo was unmoved, reclined decadently in his chair, watching through slitted eyes as the tiny knife cut Dom's shoulder and the Vamp's hand slid down the front of Dom's pants.

Dom hissed at the double sensation, eyes on Viggo, cock aching for Viggo's touch.

When he felt the first words, Viggo's first words to him, "You are mine." form in his mind, he came with a shout.

"YES."

Viggo smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The beauty of Dom's bathtub was it fit the both of them perfectly. Viggo, of course, didn't need to bathe, but he did it anyway. They would lay in the hot water in the earlier hours of the evening or watch the sunset through Dom's bathroom window and talk quietly. Sometimes, Viggo fucked Dom in the bath. Slowly and with great tenderness until Dom shook and shuddered, his trembling stirring the water around them.  
"It's Orli, innit. He's why you're dark. I can feel it." Dom's hands wandered over Viggo, made softer by the warmth of the water and the fragrant oils.

Viggo watched him for a moment. Intently.

"How did you get so perceptive, Amante? Hmmm?" He lifted a lock of hair, wet and tangled, away from Dom's forehead and smiled wryly. "Yes." He cupped Dom's face and kissed him. "What should I do?"

Dom kissed Viggo. Kissed him soft and hard. On the lips. On the chin, a place he loved, on the cheek and neck. When he got to Viggo's ear he began to whisper, between soft and biting kisses and as he spoke, Viggo's eyes drooped closed and his face set grimly.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Elijah was beautiful. Viggo watched with hunger the expanse of Elijah's back bend and yaw with each of Orlando's slow upwards thrusts. The sight made him hungry. The remembered taste of Elijah's flesh arrowing through him.

He moved with blinding swiftness coming to rest behind Elijah, legs under Orlando's bent knees. Elijah gasped and arched back as Viggo's arm slid around his chest and Orlando startled, sitting up only to find Viggo's other hand around his neck.

They froze, panting and gasping, a tableau of power exchange and erotic tension. Orlando's hands came up and clasped Viggo's wrist though it did nothing to ease the hold on his neck and Elijah's head came to rest on Viggo's shoulder, his soft pink mouth open, eyes staring blindly at the carved stone ceiling.

"Elijah," Viggo rumbled into the boy's ear.

"Master…" Elijah whispered and gasped a sobbing breath.

"Who do you belong to, attende?" Sea blue eyes burned into midnight dark and Orlando drew his lips away from his teeth. "Who? Dammit, boy, answer." Viggo barked and he shook Elijah, tightening his arm, baring his own teeth.

"You, Master. You, I belong to you. You, Viggo." Elijah was gasping, his throat working frantically, Viggo's teeth just inches away from the long sloping muscle of his shoulder.

"Yes, little one. Me. You 'both'," and he tightened his grip on Orlando's throat. "belong to 'me'. Never…never…forget that."

"Elijah…" Orlando groaned, pain written on his face plainly.

"No, Orli…" Elijah gasped.

Viggo's hand slid down Elijah's chest, slid over his hip and between them, deep between their bodies, eyes still fixed on Orlando's face as he gripped the base of Orlando's cock, smearing lube and cum over his balls then wiping the residue on his own cock and fitting it to Orlando's ass.

Orlando's eyes widened with fear as he felt the blunt heavy tip press at his anus, frozen in Viggo's grip and unable, or unwilling to fight. Viggo breached Orlando's ass, stabbing with short angry thrusts and watched Orlando's face as the boy's mouth dropped open at the sensation.

Viggo pushed Orlando back, his hand freed from its task, pushed Elijah on top of him and he leaned down, fixed his eyes on Orlando over the rise of Elijah's shoulder as he fucked, bared his teeth and set them to Elijah's back.

Elijah howled. Wailed. Thrashed between the two fighting fucking Vamps. Orlando was gasping, grunting into each thrust, hands still clamped to Viggo's wrist, eyes burning. With anger. And other things.

Heartwrenching moments later, Viggo lifted his mouth, red and messy from Elijah's back. "Thank you, little one." He murmured and unceremoniously dragged him from between them and tossed him away.

"Orli!" he cried out and bounced over the edge of the bed and thumped onto the floor. In moments his fingers tipped over the edge but Viggo saw them and turned. "Stay. There." He growled, and Elijah shrank back, hugging his knees, his chest and neck stained with blood.

Now Viggo lay fully on Orlando, cock deep, hand still gripping the slender tanned throat, his mouth bloody, fangs exposed. Orlando hissed, drawing back his lips and snapping at Viggo with his straight white teeth and fangs.

"Bastard! Fucking bastard." Orlando wheezed out, tucked his feet up under his ass and heaved them off the bed. Viggo called out as they landed, rolling across the turkey carpet, arms and legs scrabbling and tangling. Orlando fought wildly but Viggo was stronger and heavier and Orlando ended up on his knees, face to the carpet, cursing wildly.

"You little cunt. You," Viggo speared Orlando with his cock and Orlando shouted. "are becoming a nuisance." He punctuated the words with wicked downward thrusts. "You will strive," he grunted, grinding and screwing down. "to become a functioning member of this family." Orlando cried out again, wincing. "Or you will find a new and distant place to live."

"Viggo…" Elijah had crept closer to them, sat down at the end of the bed, hand extended.

Viggo turned and growled at Elijah, full on snarling, teeth bared and brow grown ridged and prominent. "Elijah!" he hissed. And Elijah scrambled back in terror.  
One long hand fisted the wild mane of Orlando's hair and Viggo pulled, lifting Orlando's face from the carpet. "You. Are. Mine." Viggo ground out. "Say it." He demanded. "Say. It. Orlando. Say it now, or you leave and Elijah stays. Say it." Viggo's lips were brushing Orlando's ear now, leaving streaks of Elijah's blood on his cheek. Orlando's fingers dug into the carpet and he growled his frustration, writhing.

"Get off me you fucker…"

"Say it." Viggo demanded.

"Fuck…"

"Say. It."

Orlando roared, full throated, and growled and snarled, his own face showing the angled ridges along each brow that marked him for what he was. But try as he might, Viggo was stronger, heavier, darker and Orlando's cry of submission was followed by a breathy gasp of a yes.

The breath and fight went out of Orlando then and he slumped to the carpet under Viggo. The hands in his hair turned soft and Viggo withdrew, his cock a wet and forgotten thing as he rolled Orlando to his side and dragged the sagging boy into his lap, caressing his face, his hair, his arm and shoulder.

"Orlando" he said and, "my beautiful boy" and "thank you."

Elijah watched.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Near dawn, Viggo stirred and opened his eyes. Elijah was curled in the hollow of his body and Orlando lay facing them, one hand tangled with Elijah's, one foot between Elijah's.

He was tired, pleasantly, and a mess of fluids, mostly come and blood.

"where are you, amante?" he murmured into Dom's mind.

"in the kitchen. Where else?" humor crackled through Dom's words.

Viggo smiled and went to find his attende.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You smell like a whore house, Viggo." Dom raised an eyebrow at him. "You alright? They still here?"  
"Mmmm. Fine." He snagged Dom's tea and swallowed some. "Yeah," he said and slung an arm around his attende. "They're mine."

"Good."


	7. House on Merton Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic: The House on Merton Lane  
> Sep. 4th, 2006 08:51 pm
> 
> Author: fra  
> In the Porcelain and Bittersweet 'Verse.  
> This falls after the Porcelain and Bittersweet.  
> Summary: How long can you keep a house in London without being noticed?  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warning: Het  
> Lotrips/rps/Seriously AU.  
> Other stories in this verse:  
> Porcelain and Bittersweet -   
> Everens -   
> Redress -   
> The Wailing Wind -   
> Somewhat South of Normal -

2006

On the fifth of March, Cate took a wrong turn coming home from the Heath with Matches and Took and stumbled on a crook in Merton Lane where number two sat. Matches, the braver of the two collies ran ahead sniffing the gates avidly while Took stopped with Cate, who put her hand on the fence and looked at the huge old edifice.

She swung her bag off her shoulder and dug into the gaping mouth for her camera, touched the outer case and withdrew the sleek silver body as she looked back up at the arching upper windows under the steeply gabled roof, lifted the camera to her eye and pressed the shutter.

~~~~~~~~~

"Come along you lot…" Cate urged the dogs in through the open front door and smiled as they clattered down the hall. She closed the door, hung up her coat and dropped her bag on the entry table to dig out her camera.

"Welcome home." The words came drifting from the kitchen. "Sorry I missed your walk. I'd've liked to get out today." Marton came to the kitchen door, mug in hand, smiling.

"The Heath was lovely. Match almost had that rabbit. Or so he thought." She walked into the man's embrace and they kissed softly. "I found a lovely old house."

"Did you? It must be something, you've got your camera out." He stepped around her so he could see the digital view screen over her shoulder, took a moment to tuck a stray red tress behind her ear and slid his hand around her waist.

"Oh, it is. It's lovely, Marton, I can't wait to show you. Look," and she held the view screen up.

"Mmmmm. Yes. It's a lovely heap of stone. Where ever did you find such a broken down old ruin?" He rumbled.

"Lout." She said affectionately and elbowed him in the belly. He made a soft whuff and his arm tightened.

They both looked at photo after photo and were quiet for the span of a good solid minute.

"Number two, Merton Lane." Cate finally murmured.

"Oh? I didn't know Merton Lane had a number two. I thought it started at fifteen. Where it crosses the Kings Road." He looked at the photo more intently. "Let's get these downloaded." he said, absently as he walked away from her.

"Right." she answered and followed him down the hall to their office.

Marton was across the partner desk, punching keys on this computer while Cate plugged the camera into the jack and began to download the images to her hard drive.

"Mmmm. As I thought, Merton lane, according to this map, dated May of 2002, starts on the Kings Road at number fifteen." He pushed a few keys and the printer began to whir , the printed paper edging out in sharp little jerks.

Cate raised an eyebrow, her look a question.

"But I was there, today." She rose from her chair and walked around the large desk to his side. He handed her the map and pointed out the cross street he was speaking of.

"Just here, see?" His fingernail rested just below the juncture.

"Yes. I do." She took the paper and looked at it intently. "Marton?"

"Mmmm?"

"What is that?" she pointed to the short green line leading up to the opposite side of the intersection. "If that line were black," she mused. "wouldn't it be a street?"

Marton was looking closely at the map. "Yes, I suppose it would be." He turned back to his monitor and keyboard. "Let's look at a map that's a bit older, shall we?" He said tapping away.

"Yes, lets." Cate smiled.

~~~~~~~~~

"A Mews." Marton said, walking through from the kitchen.

She was engrossed in a map and didn't look up. "A what, darling?"

"A Mews. On Merton Lane. As in, the old stables, turned housing turned un-mapped lane." Marton rolled his chair next to her and sat down. The paper in his hand was old, like skin, and the color of tea. She caressed the edge with her fingertips then rested them on his hand.

"How odd." She murmured.

He looked at her bent head, the soft turn of her cheek. "Why odd? Mews are quite common to old houses."

She looked up. "No, I know. Yes. It's just that this particular house is so…lost. It's as though time has passed it by. Where are the shops on the corner or the other houses or flats near by? This house has none of that. It's sitting on prime property, right off the Heath and yet there's nothing around it. Look," she pointed to the map she'd been working on.

"See here? That's the old carriage house. Now, look at these." She shuffled the maps and brought another tea colored sheet to the top. "these houses are also of that size, on different parts of the Heath and their carriage houses are gone, or converted. And so are their mews houses. So, why not this one?" She looked up at him, eyes cornflower blue, full of questions.

"I don't know, Catie-bird." He said.

~~~~~~~~~

"Cate!" Marton closed the door on the cold shifting winds and petted Match on the head as he unwound his scarf. "Catie!" he called again, louder. Match cocked his head. "Where is that girl, eh, Matches? And where's Took?" He walked down the hall, Match on his heels.

"Cate?" He put the kettle on in the kitchen and went into the office, clicked on his computer and flipped through the mail. He dropped the pile of envelopes and looked across the desk, at Cate's empty chair lit blue by the dull light of her monitor, at the door to the garden, slightly ajar.

He found her note taped crookedly to the center of her monitor.

Gone to Merton Lane. Back soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

He could tell by her breathing that she wasn't sleeping. He rolled toward her, molding himself along her slim back and nuzzled her neck.

"You're awake." He whispered against her skin. She smelled like apple blossoms.

"Mmmm. So it would seem." She shifted her hips, rocked them deeper in the fold of his body, pressed against him. "I went by Merton Lane today." She whispered.

He stilled. Waiting. "And?"

"There was someone there. A man. Looking from the window." Her voice was soft and clear. Unafraid.

"Cate." He began.

"I know. I shouldn't've gone round again. Not so soon. He'll think I'm stalking him."

He smiled and pressed his lips to her shoulder. "Well, he'll be happy to learn you're only stalking his house."

She burbled a small laugh. "Yes. Well. Not that knowing that would reassure him." She sighed. " I'd love to go inside."

"Have you heard from the registry?" He asked.

"Mmm, no. It's taking them forever." She slid her hand over his and drew it over her belly, pressing his palm to her breast.

He made love to her slowly. In his quiet way. And afterwards, as he slept, she looked out the window at the night sky, thinking about Merton Lane and the man in the window.

~~~~~~~~~~

"The lady with the dogs was back today." Eric said, casually.

Viggo looked up from his book and arched an eyebrow. "That's twice this week." He thought for a moment. "What does our friend in the registry say?"

Eric swirled the brandy in his glass and sniffed its aroma. "That she's harmless. A scholar with a penchant for old houses."

Viggo thought quietly for a while. "Do we know her name?"

"Cate." Eric said, quietly. "Cate Blanchett"

tbc


	8. Gone to Shadow, Gone to Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fic: Gone to Shadow, Gone to Light  
> Oct. 4th, 2008 03:08 am
> 
> Gone to Shadow, Gone to Light  
> Viggo/Elijah (Orlando/Elijah)  
> Mature with warnings for blood.  
> Set in the Porcelain and Bittersweet Verse. It's been a few years and Elijah has a choice to make. But as with all things surrounding Everens and it's inhabitants, there are layers and reasons and whys that only Viggo knows.  
> Unbeta'd.

Elijah wasn't young anymore. By human standards he still looked like a young man in his twenties, ask anyone on the street to look at him and comment and they'd most likely agree. But the baby fat was gone from his cheeks and the long angled muscles of his neck stood out, all softness worn away by years of living at night and being sucked dry.

Viggo watched them together, how they'd changed, calmed to a steady heat, and noted the frayed quality to Elijah's movements. How his smile was that much less ready, his gate less agile, how sometimes he caught himself on the counter, steadying, and hid it with a playful sway.

He thought about the choice Elijah would have to make. The choice he, himself, would be making by laying it out for the young man. No one lasted long as an attendee. Elijah had lasted longer than most. But the time was coming, and soon, when it would be too late and Viggo would not loose family again so soon.

~*~

Cigars and brandy. Viggo didn't eat. None of the family ate real food much. But through all of the centuries, he found he couldn't give up those simple pleasures. More so now that Billy was home to share them.

Weeks went by with Bills and Viggo holed up in the library, smoking, talking, about the family and the finances and life in the new world. Though now they'd been silent for a while. The conversation dying off, the butts smoldering low, glasses nearly empty.

"Tell me about Elijah." Billy's voice surprised him out of the stillness. He drew breath and let it go, wondering how he'd ever thought to evade his friends' keen intuition. Billy watched him with hunter's eyes and a stillness that Viggo found reassuring and unsettling at once.

"It's time." He said simply.

Billy nodded and looked at the fire. "And Orlando?" he asked.

Viggo looked past Billy, past the fire and remembered the years it took to civilize Orlando. How even now he wasn't good with people. Rarely left the house, never took another attendee, even under duress. To lose Elijah would finish him. To bring Elijah into the family would be another sort of loss though Elijah might still choose to live with them. He would never be Orlando's attendee, never feed his vamp again. In the end it would have to be Elijah's choice.

"Loosing Elijah will finish him, Viggo." Billy said, low and soft.

Viggo nodded. He knew. They all did.

~*~

Dawn was the hardest for Orlando. He was still young as vamps go and the light bit into him like shards of glass, jagged, sharp. Elijah could tell time by Orlando's sensitivity to it, how he would become quiet and move farther into the shadows of the room, or nearer the stair. He never mentioned it, just let Orlando drift away, let him go to their room, to sleep.

Now, these days, Elijah found himself taking that time to look at the day. He'd make tea, something light to eat and go to the roof with his tray to sit and watch the sun rise over Hampstead Heath.

He marveled again at the green. The sheer abundance of lush growth and how it shimmered in the morning sun. More often than not, his tea would grow cold, his food left uneaten as he watched with rapped attention, the park come to life and wonder how he'd become so comfortable being apart from it.

There was no regret in his thoughts, only remembrance, and fondness for time long gone. At twenty six, he no longer felt the dreaming endless possiblities of life. He didn't mourn their loss.

He ran his hand over the curving scars on the inside of his elbow, the map of Orlando's possession, his passion writ on Elijah's skin. Not with love, never that. But need. Necessity. He was necessary.

The cords stood out on his wrists. He turned his hands over and noted the deep valleys between the bones on his hands, how they looked tense and strained though he was relaxed and sated from the night.

And Viggo had been watching him. For some time now he'd catch the vamp's measuring stare, missing nothing, not the tremors or the brittle edge to his laughter. And he was afraid. Terrified.

~*~

"Don't be afraid." Viggo set gentle hands on Elijah's shoulders. The sun had not yet broken over the humped shadowed trees and steam still curled from Elijah's cup of tea. He stilled.

"Viggo," he whispered, frozen, looking over the same landscape yet seeing nothing. He felt the angry knot of tension writhe in his belly. "I can't," but the words wouldn't come. He shook.

Viggo's hands tightened, cool yet reassuring in their strength.

"Do you want me to do it?" Viggo said.

Tears gathered in Elijah's eyes, filled, over filled and fell yet the words still would not come. There would be no turning back, no change of mind. The riotous green of the Heath exploded before him as the sun's rays touched them and he thought about never seeing Orlando again. Never touching him, being touched, never feeding him again. He was breaking.

"Please," he whispered.

There was a moment, no longer than a few panting breaths, where nothing happened. The Heath continued to be green and the sky became opal-blue-pink and then Viggo was sliding down his back, wrapping him in his arms, the sharp prick of teeth to the sloping muscle of his shoulder and he was falling back, falling away under the pressure and pleasure of being fed upon.

He dropped his head back and let it wash over him, his cock gone hard, hands reaching for narrow hips only to find the wider, more solid muscles of Viggo's thighs behind him. His heart hammered, trying to keep time with the blood he was loosing, the last blood he would ever loose and in a moment it was over and Viggo's teeth were gone.

The blood, when it hit his tongue was bitter, dark and hot and he gagged wrenching away from the offering. Bile rose in his throat, threatening and Viggo's hand closed over his neck, forcing his head back and his mouth open to receive him.

He drank. Washed the human taste of vomit from his throat with the thick copper tang of blood, felt it coil down, a living thing, a killing thing into his guts. He coughed, pushed Viggo's arm away and fell writhing to the stones beneath him. He could feel his heart slamming and scrabbled over the stones, trying to escape, trying to go back but even as he moved his heart began to slow and his muscles gave way and he collapsed, eyes wide.

The sun breaching the crenulated wall of Everings was his last mortal sight.

~*~

"It's done." Viggo said.

Dom rolled over, the covers tangling around his hips, his sleepy gaze taking in all of his lover's body in one lazy sweep. He opened his arms and Viggo sank into them like a dead weight, his breath a cool sweep over Dom's shoulder.

"Where is he?" Dom whispered, dreading the answer. Wishing it was here, alive, safe. Knowing it was not. He held his breath.

"Below the tower." Viggo said. And that was all. He was here, now he was family.

"He's family now. You did the right thing, Viggo. It was time." he didn't say these things to reassure only to say them, to say something so Viggo could hear him, so Viggo had something to hear. "The rest will sort itself out, don't worry about that. Rest now, rest."

Viggo's arms tightened around him and he felt the velvet soft of lips just before the nick of teeth and the rush of heat. Viggo rolled him back, dragged up over him and Dom felt Viggo's need to conquer, to mark and claim. He'd made Elijah, changed him, but could not claim him. Elijah had been Orlando's and now he was his own.

Pleasure crested, Dom felt Viggo driving him hard and even as they pushed and ground together, Dom wondered how much longer he could stay like this. How much longer he would belong to Viggo before he too would have to make the same choice.

Viggo fell to the bed beside him, lapped gently at the wound on his shoulder and stroked his flank. Dom felt the soft woof of breath across his neck, felt Viggo laying quiet, sated but still tense.

"I want you to go to him." Viggo said and slid his arm over Dom's waist, followed the length of his arm with soft fingers and twined their hands together. "Help Elijah. Help them both." Dom stiffened, tense.

"Viggo." he whispered.

"He knows you. He trusts you." Viggo said and kissed Dom's shoulder. "Let it be my gift to him. To them both."

Dom nodded.

~*~


	9. Codex Dranicus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda for Porcelain and Bittersweet. Orli is a shit which makes for good stories.

Codex Dranicus

fra

2006

Eric liked living at Everens. He was a night sleeper, mostly, so he missed seeing the vamps a lot of the time. Didn't stop him from lusting after Orlando and Elijah or reading up on the latest Vamp news, but it did put him in a slightly different association with the family. 

Billy split his time between Viggo and Eric, though as time went on, he drifted towards Eric. That wasn't a big surprise to Viggo. Or the others. Eric and Billy just, sort of, belonged together. Viggo was happy for Billy. And he missed him. 

As winter began to break and the days got longer, more cousins came, more vamps in their wake and the house fairly buzzed with family. Eric and Billy had their hands full keeping the cousins in some sort of order, busy and productive while also keeping them out of trouble. 

One or two broke the rules too often and were cast out. Viggo hated doing it. Casting out a cousin put them at the mercy of outsiders. Vamps with less than admirable intentions and some with positively murderous ones. He gave the miscreants every chance he could but in the end, his family came first. So out they would go. 

Viggo would hand them an envelope of money and send them off in the dawn with Eric who would drive them to Kings Cross or Gatwick and make sure he or she got on a plane or train or sometimes boat, and dutifully left the country. 

Sometimes, later, Billy would find an article in Le Monde about a boy or girl found dead in the Catacombs or on the grounds of St. Denis and he would close his eyes for a moment with regret. Sometimes he told Viggo. Sometimes, not. Luckily, it didn't happen often.

By Midsummer, Eric had become an indispensable member of the household. Most of the cousins liked or simply respected him and those of the vamps that he chose to meet thought well of him. 

It took Elijah exactly forty four hours and twenty seven minutes from the time Viggo said welcome for him to seduce Eric. Partly because he'd been away with Orlando for most of that time and had no idea who, or what, had moved in with them. 

He sauntered into the kitchen in the weak light of dawn, scratching idly at his belly and switching the kettle on, when he noticed Eric sitting at the end of the old, scarred kitchen table. 

It took Eric exactly twenty three seconds to seat Elijah across his lap. 

It took Elijah exactly ten seconds to realize what he was letting himself in for. 

No one saw them for the better part of a week. 

Orlando was not happy.

~~~~~~~~~

"He's your attende, Orlando, not your property. He's his own man. There's nothing you can do about that. And I don't think Elijah would be happy if you tried to tie him up emotionally. He's just not like you that way." Viggo sounded so reasonable. So sensible. Orlando tried to wrap his mind around the sensible, reasonable words, and failed.

Jealousy ate at him. And he was hungry. 

"I'm hungry." Orlando whined. 

Viggo shuffled the paper, turning one large crinkled page and slowly pressing it flat. "So eat." He said, not looking up.

"But Elijah…" Orlando's voice was getting higher. 

"Is busy. Find someone else." Viggo said. 

Orlando fought the hissing reaction that Viggo's quiet deflection always seemed to bring out in him. "Fine." He snapped and swung out of the room. 

~~~~~~~~~

"Hello, 'Sblommie." 

Dom looked up from the Codex and smiled at Orlando. 

~~~~~~~~~


End file.
